Under a Blood Red Sky
by bloodwrites
Summary: Sequel to The Red and the Grey. Red John is dead and his psychotic protege Ellie Jennings has taken the reins; under the guise of working with Interpol on a jewel heist case, Jane manages to get Lisbon and Co. overseas to apprehend Ellie and avenge Tommy Lisbon's death. Meanwhile, Jane tries to convince Lisbon he's the man for her... by any means necessary.
1. Prologue

_I've been promising a sequel to my fic THE RED AND THE GREY for... well, forever, basically. I finally have a little time to do that, so I thought I'd begin posting now. If you haven't read THE RED AND THE GREY, this might not make a ton of sense, but I'll give you the bullet points: This is set after the season three finale, and assumes that Jane did, in fact, kill Red John when he gunned down Timothy Carter. We're AU from that point on- no Lorelei (woot!), no Wainright... You get the picture. Everything else you should be able to sort through pretty easily once you begin reading. Though THE RED AND THE GREY is still right here, if you feel the need/yen to read. _

_The goal is to post twice a week 'til we're done, though I may fall short on that at times. Tonight, just to get us rolling, I'll post the prologue and chapter one, and then I'll post the next chapter on Sunday. Hope you enjoy! _

PROLOGUE

The bracelet glittered like the night sky—diamond stars in a blue-black setting, the jewelry cool, tantalizing, in her small hand. She loved diamonds; always had. John told her once that he would buy her a house filled with them. _I'll hide them in your cupboards and under your bed. I'll decorate your ceiling with them, Ellie, and you'll sleep safe under the glittering lights. _

She'd laughed at him, of course… But she still loved the idea.

The Sad Man groaned. She scowled.

"You're supposed to be still," she whispered. His face was already contorted in a death grimace—that look John had taught her to anticipate. She dipped her fingers in the blood leaking from the wide, smiling gash in his neck.

All around her, jewels sparkled and shone. She did love this store. Ellie twirled and waltzed to the nearest wall and ran her index and middle fingers over the plaster in a smooth, even circle. Her heart felt as though it would burst; it had been far too long since she'd had such fun. She looked up. There was a video camera, she knew, but the Sad Man had disabled it for her.

He had been very helpful. And, really, not terribly sad until today.

She clasped the bracelet around her delicate wrist, then smashed another glass case with the grip of her knife. She held the blade when she did it, feeling the razor-sharp edge slice into her palm. It burned and tingled and set her blood alight.

_Pain makes us more alive, _John had told her. She had agreed. She still did. She completed the howling smiley with her own blood, finishing off the eyes with a flourish. Ellie took one more gem—this one large and brightest blue, like Patrick Jane's eyes—and put it in her pocket.

She stopped beside the Sad Man and plugged his nose with her thumb and forefinger. Then, she lay her other hand, the palm still dripping blood, over his mouth. "Ssshhh," she whispered lovingly. "Almost done."

The Sad Man's eyes bulged. He puffed and gurgled, struggled and strangled and, finally, slumped.

Ellie packed up her diamonds and gems, leaving behind quite a mess. Father wouldn't be happy with her, she knew. But she'd been so bored these last few months, with John gone and Father insisting they stay so very quiet. Europe was a bore when one couldn't raise just a teeny bit of hell.

She wondered what Patrick and Teresa would think, when they read of her overseas adventure. The thought made that delicious tingle return to her head. Father had cut their good times short in Mexico, but she wouldn't be so easily dissuaded. They were such fun. She could hardly wait to play with them again.

TBC

_And, we're off! Hope you're with me so far- I'd love to hear your thoughts! _


	2. Chapter One

_I just realized I forgot to do the standard disclaimer in the prologue, so I'll just do that here and now: I own neither the Mentalist nor Patrick Jane. Would that I did, though... That honor goes to Bruno Heller and the fine folks at CBS. No profit made, no copyright infringement intended. _

CHAPTER ONE

"How long have they been in there?" Rigsby whispered. His arms were crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed. He stopped just shy of chewing his thumbnail as he looked at Lisbon's office.

Cho glanced up from his paperwork. "Half an hour."

"That's the third time this week," Van Pelt said, though she looked more annoyed than concerned. "I just don't see why she has to close the blinds."

"Yeah," Cho said, looking from Rigsby to Van Pelt. "That's a real puzzle all right."

"Jane's not gonna like it," Rigsby said, his voice still hushed as he leaned toward Van Pelt.

"Jane's not gonna like what?" Jane whispered, from just behind Rigsby's left shoulder. Both agents jumped, while Cho merely smirked before returning to his book.

Grace flushed guiltily. "Oh – it's just… Boss has some company."

Jane managed to appear impassive. "Montrose again?" he asked. "Why should that bother me?"

Van Pelt merely rolled her eyes.

Six months had passed since the case that had taken Jane and Lisbon – and ultimately the rest of the team – to Mexico in pursuit of a lunatic who had been holding Lisbon's youngest brother Tommy hostage.

While the rest of the team had made it out alive, not everyone had been so lucky. Tommy Lisbon died that day, of a single gunshot to the head inflicted by none other than former CBI Director Gale Bertram.

To say the past six months had required some adjustments would be an understatement. And while Lisbon seemed to be all right when the whole thing was over and done, Jane knew better. The loss of her brother and a marked lack of leads on Bertram or his lunatic protégé, Ellie Jennings, was taking its toll.

She worked constantly, despite the most recent development in her life: Tommy's daughter, Annie, had been shipped against her will to Sacramento, in the hopes that 'Auntie Reese' could sort her out where her uncles had failed. And while it had seemed immediately upon their return from Mexico that she and Jane were actually making inroads to some semblance of a personal relationship…

Jane peered peevishly at the closed door and shuttered windows of Lisbon's office.

Well, now they most definitely were _not _making inroads. Jane considered sulking on the couch, but dismissed the idea out of hand. This required a more direct approach. This was the third day in a week that Detective Keith Montrose – of the southern accent and freakishly broad shoulders – had closed himself in Lisbon's office during lunch.

Jane was certain nothing was going on; Lisbon was a terrible liar, and she never would have been able to hide a brewing romance. But, Montrose had made it plain more than once that he had designs on Teresa.

No – Jane simply couldn't let it stand.

"I believe Lisbon has a file I need," he announced.

Three pair of eyes turned to him as one.

"I wouldn't do that," Rigsby warned.

"She's been in a bad mood all day," Grace agreed.

"Meh – she's always in a bad mood. My appearance or lack thereof will hardly change that."

"No," Rigsby argued. "A _really _bad mood. Annie got picked up shoplifting last night – Lisbon's sending her home tonight."

"That's a terrible solution," he said immediately, honestly annoyed. "I suppose that was Detective Montrose's idea." He didn't bother hiding his disdain when he said the name.

Before anyone could respond, he stalked over to Lisbon's door, rapped lightly once, and then pulled on the handle before anyone could tell him to go away.

"It's locked," he said, with frank incredulity.

Even Cho looked up with some interest at that revelation.

Jane reached into his pocket and retrieved his favorite lock pick.

"Bad idea," Rigsby said.

Jane glanced over his shoulder. Cho was clearly not interested one way or the other, Rigsby anxious, and Grace – surprisingly enough – more curious than disapproving. These last few months, he and Grace had gotten along quite well, actually; she was embracing the rebellion and inner fire she'd no doubt held at bay her entire life in an effort to please a controlling father. Shortly after their return from Mexico, she'd broken up with Rigsby, taken to beating wayward suspects, and almost never gave Jane those disapproving glances she'd perfected in the days before she'd been forced to gun down her fiancé in order to save Lisbon and an entire cabin of witnesses.

Now, Grace's eyes sparkled mischievously. She didn't actually say, "I dare you," but it was certainly implied.

Jane picked the lock in mere seconds and pushed the door open breezily.

He was relieved to find that Lisbon was seated safely behind her desk, while Montrose sat in an office chair with his long legs stretched out comfortably in front of him. The detective had brought Thai food with him. Lisbon looked up when Jane came in, but she didn't look particularly surprised to see him.

"Is there something I can do for you, Jane?" she asked.

"Oh – I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were entertaining – "

"We're having lunch, Jane, I'm not throwing a dinner party."

"I just wanted to find out if you have any other leads on that case we're in the middle of?" He looked carelessly at Montrose. "Death. Mayhem. Things are never dull here at the CBI."

"Which is why you slept through the better half of my briefing this morning, I guess," Lisbon said. He started to protest, but she stopped him with a wilting glance. "If you _hadn't, _you'd know where we are on that case."

"Well – yes," he agreed amiably. "I know where we were this morning… I just meant, where are we now that I've solved the case?"

She got a little bit red. Her eyebrows climbed her forehead. Montrose glared at the floor, while Jane just looked pleased with himself.

"You solved the case?"

"I have," he said. There may have been a trace of smugness to his tone, but he felt entirely justified for it.

"And when were you planning on _telling me_ you solved the case?"

"Well, I just solved it twenty minutes ago, and as soon as I realized that I had, I came straight here. I would have come in sooner, but you were entertaining the good detective."

She shot him a glare that suggested he would be wise to be quiet. He did so happily, while Lisbon apologized to Montrose and pushed him out the door.

"Lovely seeing you again, Keith," Jane called after him. "Shame you couldn't stay longer."

The detective, who had been perfectly pleasant when they'd first met months before, mumbled something less than civil under his breath as he walked away. Jane grinned that much wider.

When he was gone, Lisbon motioned for Jane to take the detective's seat. She pushed some of the Thai leftovers toward him, which he gladly accepted. With the door closed and Montrose gone, Jane had a moment to study Lisbon as she idly pushed noodles around on her plate and waited for him to speak.

She looked tired. More than tired, though, she looked… sad. No – she'd been sad when Bosco was murdered. This was different. It seemed bottomless; a chasm of fatigue and darkness from which Jane, thus far, had been unable to provide any kind of relief. The scar Ellie Jennings' right hand man had left on the CBI agent's cheek had healed, but it was still impossible to miss – a deep, angry pink fissure from her right cheekbone nearly to her chin. Jane had suggested plastic surgery more than once, but she wouldn't even consider it. This was her punishment for letting her brother die, he knew – a bold reminder to her and the world that, when it mattered the most, Teresa Lisbon had failed.

"Did you really solve the case, or are you just trying to torture me?" she finally asked when he said nothing.

"I did – if I wanted to torture you, don't you think I could have come up with something more creative than this?"

She smiled faintly. "Yeah, I guess this would be pretty tame by your standards. So… Who did it?"

"Mike Billings," he said. He wasn't happy about it, and it was clear in his voice. The tiny bit of good humor Lisbon had shown vanished.

"Dammit," she said softly. "You're sure?"

He nodded.

Mike Billings was ten years old, and – as far as Jane had been able to tell – had been brutalized by his grandfather for most of his young life, while the old man raised him and his younger sister. His father was in prison; his mother was dead. A week ago, Grandpa Billings was found floating in the neighbor's pool with a hatchet in his back. Jane had known immediately that it was the boy, of course; the sister wasn't strong enough, and Mike hadn't been able to look Jane in the eye during any of their three informal interviews.

"I thought you said it wasn't him," she said.

"I lied."

She took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. "I know," she said.

Outside her fishbowl of an office, Jane could hear the others talking. The blinds were closed, but he suspected that at least Grace was lingering near the door trying to hear their conversation. He was suddenly, inexorably tired of ferreting out bad guys and getting a front row seat to watch all the horrible things the human race did to one another.

"So, why'd you decide to tell me the truth now?"

This was the part that disturbed him the most; the memory of his last conversation with the boy, just an hour ago. "He'll do it again," he said. "I thought it was just him protecting the sister."

"But it's not?"

He shook his head. "It might have started that way, but it won't take so much to incite him next time. He enjoyed it too much."

She stood. "Well, then – let's go get him."

Her blazer hung off her and her jeans sagged just a bit; Lisbon – always a little on the thin side – was losing weight. He got up as well.

"So, you're sending Annie home?" he said, just before she reached the door.

"Don't start."

He held up his hands. "I didn't say anything – just making conversation."

"She stole an iPod last night. And a six pack of Miller Lite."

"So, she has bad judgment." He shrugged. "And her taste could use some refining. That's no reason to send her back to Chicago."

She turned back toward him, her hand still on the doorknob. There was a trace of fire in her eyes.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with her?" she asked. "She hates me – and why shouldn't she? I got her father killed – "

"_Ellie Jennings_ got her father killed," Jane corrected her, reflecting just a little of that fire back at her. "Gale Bertram got her father killed. You didn't get her father killed, Teresa. Honestly, woman, how many times do I have to repeat myself?"

She got that lost look in her eye again. Jane wondered briefly if this was how it had been being around him those first years after Red John struck, then dismissed the thought. He'd been a thousand times worse. Lisbon wouldn't let herself become mired in self-pity; she would punish herself by working long hours, she would suffer in silence, would deny herself personal happiness… But she would never lose herself the way Jane had.

She still didn't open the door. Their eyes met. It seemed for a moment that she was searching for something—waiting for him to say something, do something. Not for the first time (or the hundredth), he thought back to their night together in Mexico: the way she'd felt in his arms, the look in her eye… How close they had been, in those moments before they went to meet Ellie and Lisbon's life changed forever.

"I don't know what to do with her," she confessed quietly, her defenses unexpectedly lowered.

Jane nodded. "I know that. But tell her that. Don't send her away… she needs a home."

"She needs stability," Lisbon argued. "Someone who's there every night, instead of traipsing off to crime scenes at two in the morning. I can't give her what she needs."

Before Jane could argue the point any further, Lisbon's cell phone rang. She answered it as she opened the door, effectively ending the conversation. Jane listened as that boor Montrose wheedled and cajoled and eventually managed to convince Lisbon to take the evening off and go out with him.

He was really beginning to dislike Montrose.

By the time Lisbon hung up the phone, the others had gathered around and it was time to arrest the budding psychopath who had axed his abusive grandfather and thrown him in the neighbor's pool.

It was official: the job was definitely starting to get to Jane.

What they needed, Jane realized as they piled into the van and set out for their destination, was a change of pace. Something new. Something different. And preferably something as far from Chief Montrose as humanly possible. Jane looked out at the passing highway, an unexpected sense of optimism unfurling in his chest. He had a mission.

He just needed to get Lisbon to go along with it.

TBC

_And there we have it... A prologue and chapter one. Chapter two will be up on Sunday. Don't forget - reviews are like crack for we lowly fic writers. I'd love to hear your thoughts! _


	3. Chapter Two

_As promised, here's chapter two- half an hour early, even! Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed, I'm blown away. So glad you guys are on board. I hope this chapter keeps you guys interested; we'll get more into Ellie and the case in the chapters to come, but I figured we had a little Jane-Lisbon-Annie business to attend to first..._

CHAPTER TWO

After the team had arrested the ten-year-old killer and tied up paperwork and done all the other tiresome things required after a case was solved, Jane excused himself and returned to his apartment.

He whistled something low and tuneless on his way up the three flights to his loft overlooking the Sacramento riverfront. Since moving in six months earlier, Jane had become genuinely fond of the place. He knew his neighbors, most of them ruffians and artists—both of whom he'd historically gotten along well with. He enjoyed the sunlight and the space and the history. It felt like home in a way he hadn't experienced since Charlotte and Angie were killed.

For the first month after they'd returned from Mexico, Lisbon had shown up on his doorstep nearly every night. _You mind if I, uh… I just couldn't sleep _she would say, her voice low and her emerald eyes avoiding his gaze. He would usher her inside, and after a bit of a dance she would take the bed and he the couch. He didn't mind particularly—sleeping beside her would have been his preference, of course, but he liked the couch just fine. And he especially liked the way Lisbon looked in the morning; the rasp to her voice; the pleased smile she got when he made breakfast and the little pout she got when he didn't.

He tried to convince her to move in with him. _Just as friends, _he'd said. _No funny stuff. _Naturally, she declined. Her late-night visits became less and less frequent. When Annie moved to Sacramento, those visits stopped altogether. Sometimes, though, when he was lying on the couch in his spacious apartment alone, he would hear something outside the door and he would think, just for a moment, that she'd returned. The thought made him much happier than it should have, strictly speaking.

As he came up the stairs this evening, it was clear that he wasn't alone. The smell of cigarette smoke was his first clue. The dark-haired girl sitting on a duffel bag beside his door was the tip-off, however. She held a cigarette in one hand, a can of Miller Lite in her other. Jane grimaced.

He walked to his door and unlocked it without acknowledging Lisbon's niece, then finally met her eye as he held the door open. She stood uncertainly, waiting for him to throw her out. Berate her. Instead, he took both beer and cigarette from her, dropped the butt into the half-empty container, and nodded inside.

"Come on, then. Get in there."

"Are you gonna call Reese?"

"Yes," he said immediately. She started to turn around, but he caught her by the elbow. "And you knew perfectly well I would call your aunt, so don't pretend otherwise."

"Did not." She stepped across the threshold. Jane took his phone from his pocket.

"Did too," he retorted. He started to hit speed dial, then thought better of it. Annie looked at him expectantly.

"Well?"

"You're supposed to be on the plane now?" he asked.

She nodded sulkily. "I just waited until I knew Reese was gone, and then I told the stewardess I thought I was coming down with smallpox."

Jane's mouth twitched. "Smallpox, eh? Interesting choice."

"She didn't believe me, but what the hell. It got me off the plane. Go big or go home, right?"

"So, as far as Teresa knows you're still on your way to the Windy City."

"Yep," Annie confirmed. "I figured I'd buy myself a little more time and hang out here for a couple hours."

"Ah," Jane said. "Well… I think I have a plan, so why don't you make yourself at home. You don't happen to have anything nice to wear—a skirt, perhaps?"

The girl narrowed her eyes in much the same way Lisbon did on a regular basis. "No. Why?"

"Uh… no matter, I'm sure we can find something. I'm taking you out to dinner. It's the least I can do."

"What about Aunt Reese?"

He squelched a smile and looked at her mysteriously. "Oh, I expect we'll catch up with her soon enough."

At seven o'clock that evening, Jane and Annie arrived at Rare, a western-style steak house off the main stretch just outside Sacramento. After some debate, Annie had won out and was wearing her usual costume: jeans and sneakers, though he had persuaded her to trade in her customary t-shirt and flannel for a pretty jade sweater they'd found at the bottom of her suitcase. She looked around, taking in the horse gear on the walls and the signed, framed photos of Hollywood cowboys. Her attention lingered on an entire wall of early western pistols and rifles.

Jane mentally rolled his eyes, but Annie was clearly impressed. "Cool… I didn't figure you for this kind of place. I thought you'd like, you know, raw fish or snails or something."

"I can always appreciate a good side of beef now and then," he said without enthusiasm, craning his neck to see into the hidden corners and crannies of the restaurant.

"Yeah, right. You wanna tell me why we're really here?" she asked.

He didn't answer, as the hostess was approaching. The front of the restaurant was filled, it being peak dinner hours, but there was clearly a more quiet area farther back. Jane smiled winningly at the young blonde woman holding their menus.

"Tell me, miss, where's your more intimate seating?" She looked at Annie with some alarm, and Jane shook his head quickly. "Uh—not for us, of course. But I was thinking of bringing a special lady friend of mine here. Where's your most romantic table?"

Once she was reassured that Jane wasn't some twisted pedophile, the hostess smiled in relief. "Of course. Follow me—we have some great tables looking out over the water."

Annie was watching him, eyes narrowed, trying to figure out his angle. It became apparent the moment they turned the corner. Seated at a table looking out over the water, a candle between them, were Detective Montrose and Lisbon. Jane noted immediately that, while Montrose's body language belied a man very intent on the company he was keeping, Lisbon was leaning back in her chair, her gaze fixed on a point at the other side of the room. She looked sad. And utterly bored.

Jane nodded his approval enthusiastically when the hostess turned to him. "This is perfect. Yes, this will do nicely. Lovely."

Lisbon turned the moment she heard his voice. And while she didn't look quite so sad and certainly not at all bored, the lightning-quick switch to ire wasn't what Jane had hoped for.

"Jane? Are you kidding me?" she demanded, stalking up to the two of them so quickly that Jane took a step back. The hostess looked decidedly alarmed. Detective Montrose remained at the table; he didn't look that pleased himself.

Annie looked at Jane with eyebrows raised and shook her head. "Wow. Now that's low—using an orphan just so you can get into my aunt's pants."

Jane shook his finger at her. "You hush. I'm working." He turned his attention to the hostess for a moment. "Thank you. I think we'll be fine from here." Once the woman was gone, he turned to Lisbon. "This is quite a coincidence…"

"Don't even start," Lisbon said. "What the hell did you do? Why is _she _not on plane?" she asked, nodding toward Annie. She looked at her niece fully for the first time, forehead furrowed in a look more confusion than anger. "I thought you couldn't wait to get out of here."

"Yeah, well… I changed my mind."

Jane watched as Montrose stood and approached the trio, noting the obvious distain on Annie's face. Jane looked at his young companion with an easy smile. "Why don't you go visit the ladies room; get washed up for dinner. Give your Aunt Reese and me a moment."

Annie nodded, looking relieved that she was being spared this part of the drama. She left just as Montrose joined them.

"Jane," the man said gruffly. "What's this all about?"

"I found your niece on my doorstep," Jane said to Lisbon, ignoring Montrose entirely. "It seems she thought she was coming down with something just before her flight departed, so she decided it would be best not to expose the other passengers. Very mature of her, I'd say."

"Sheep dip," Lisbon said promptly. "We talked about this. She's miserable here. I'm obviously not giving her what she needs. My brother James is gonna be waiting at the airport tonight."

"We may be able to get her on a later flight," Montrose said. He took out his cell and started to dial. "I've got a friend in the travel business."

"Put the phone away, Detective," Jane said shortly, staring the man down. "Before I put it away for you."

"Excuse me?" Montrose demanded, stepping directly into Jane's space. Jane didn't back away, his gaze even with the detective's. An unexpected jolt of anger kept him rooted to the spot.

"That's all right, Keith," Lisbon said, stepping between the two men. Jane suppressed a smile as she shepherded her date away. "Listen, I'm sorry… I think we're gonna have to postpone dinner tonight," she said quietly to the other man. "Maybe later in the week we can get together?"

Montrose frowned, a glare directed at Jane. "Teresa, if you give in to this kind of behavior, it will only encourage him."

She raised her eyebrows, a flash of anger darkening her eyes. "I'm not concerned about Jane's behavior right now, Keith. At the moment, the only thing I'm worried about is Annie. I can deal with Jane later."

Montrose shot another glare at Jane before he strode away, nearly knocking over another patron in the process.

"He's got a real temper, Teresa," Jane said. "I don't get a good feeling from that guy."

"Shut up, Jane," Lisbon said, giving him her very best glare. "Just sit down and tell me what the hell happened."

Jane took Montrose's place at the table, unable to deny a certain smugness in the act, and proceeded to give Lisbon a rundown of the night's events. Annie joined them a few minutes later, taking a seat beside Jane. Lisbon shook her head with a long, deep sigh. She looked at her niece seriously.

"You know I'll do whatever you want me to do," she said quietly to the girl. "If you want to stay, we'll do what we have to and we'll make it work. If you want to go, I understand. But you've gotta work with me here. Shoplifting, drinking, smoking… they're all off limits. Those are the rules. You either live with them, or you go stay with James. I wish you could go back with your mom…"

"Yeah, right," Annie said bitterly. "I broke her boyfriend's nose the last time he came at me. Next time, I'm not stopping 'til he's in the ground."

Jane felt a flush of anger; he'd suspected something along these lines had happened with Annie's mother, but Lisbon hadn't shared the details of just how she'd ended up with the girl on her doorstep.

Lisbon nodded quickly. "I know. Trust me, I'm not sending you back there. But James—"

"James has three kids of his own," Annie said. "They're barely getting by. I'm just supposed to show up and sponge off him for the next four years, 'til I'm finally old enough to split?"

"So stay here," Lisbon said simply.

"I can't stay with you," Annie said. She kept her eyes on the table, but even so it was clear they were brimming with tears. Lisbon tried to take it in stride, but Jane could see how deeply wounded she was by the girl. "I'm sorry," Annie continued. "I know I should just get over it… I can't forget it right now, Reese. I wish I could. Every time I see you, I think of my dad. What he went through. How he died. And that apartment…"

"We could move," Lisbon said hesitantly. She reached across the table to take the girl's hand. Annie jerked it away so quickly she nearly toppled her water glass.

Jane sighed. Clearly, he had to do something. "I think I have a solution," he said. It spoke to the gravity of the situation that Lisbon didn't even argue with him. In fact, the naked hope in her eyes was almost heartbreaking.

"What?" she asked, though there was an inevitable edge of wariness to her tone.

"Annie comes to stay with me," he said simply. "On a temporary basis, of course."

Annie's head came up, her eyes shining with the first glimmer of hope Jane had seen since her arrival in California. "Seriously? I can live with you?"

"_Temporarily,_" he repeated. "And the same rules apply with me as with Auntie Reese: No stealing, no drinking, no drugs, no cigarettes."

"No fun, no laughing, no popcorn," Annie added.

"Eh… The popcorn is negotiable. But otherwise, absolutely. No fun whatsoever. I frown on it personally. Bad for the constitution."

Annie rolled her eyes, squelching a grin. Jane looked at Lisbon. Her eyes had gone wide.

"You're serious about this?" she asked.

"Completely."

She hesitated. Jane glanced at Annie, then back at Lisbon. He cleared his throat. "Uh… Annie, why don't you go—"

"Wash my hands again? Yeah, right. Sure. What the hell—I'm gonna be one of those OCD freaks before you guys make up your minds, but whatever." She left them once more.

The moment she was gone, Lisbon spoke. "Jane, you don't have to do this."

"I know that. But do you have any better ideas? Admit it, this is perfect: Annie stays here so the two of you can work on repairing your relationship, but with enough distance that you don't end up killing one another in the process."

"And what about you?" she asked. "How exactly is this perfect for you? You really want to take on a teenage girl you barely know, for… what? What do you expect to get out of this?"

"You mean, do I expect you to be so grateful that you fall into bed with me again?" He shook his head, a spark of mischief in his eye. "Of course, that's always a possibility."

"Jane—"

He held up his hand. "Oh, come on. I'm kidding, Lisbon. You really think our friendship means so little to me? I can help with this… You've gone out of your way over the years for me, and to date I've given very little in return. But I can do this. And to be honest, I wouldn't mind some company in the loft. Annie's a good kid. I think I can teach her a thing or two."

"Like picking pockets?"

"Among other things," he said with a sly smile.

She thought it through, a pretty little pout on her lips. "You're really serious?"

"Stop asking me that. I'm serious. I'm certain."

"Okay. I guess… yeah. I mean, it's not like I have any better ideas."

"Well, there's a ringing endorsement." He paused, looking at her closely. "So… we're really doing this?"

She sighed. Annie was just coming around the corner when Lisbon nodded. "Yeah. What the hell? If she's okay with it, let's give it a shot."

Annie bounded over to the table, having apparently picked up the gist of their conversation from a distance. "So, I can live with Patrick? Seriously?"

Lisbon looked at her niece intently. "You listen to what he tells you. I mean… unless he's telling you how to steal identities or something. But if you give him any trouble, you're on the first plane out of here. I mean it."

Annie nodded. "Yeah. I know, Reese. I get it."

"Good. Then… yeah. We'll try this for two weeks," Lisbon said. "Then we'll sit down to evaluate how it's going, and figure out where to go from there. Okay?" She looked at Jane first, then Annie. Both nodded their agreement.

It was official: Jane had a roommate.

Despite the tension and the less-than-stellar steak, Jane, Lisbon, and Annie managed to have a civil dinner. Afterward, Lisbon walked Jane and her niece to Jane's car. Annie got in the passenger's side without argument, and Lisbon pulled Jane aside, looking anxious now that the decision had been made.

"Listen, if you want to change your mind…" she said.

"I don't," he assured her. He touched her shoulder, half expecting her to balk. She didn't. "Relax, Teresa. I'll take her back to the loft, help her get settled, and in the morning we'll figure out what to do about getting her back in school. Or… something. Perhaps a job. She has too much time on her hands now—too much time when you're grieving is a dangerous thing. She needs to be of use."

"You don't even have walls at your place," Lisbon said, obviously following her own tangential logic.

"Of course I have walls, woman. Annie can take the bedroom, and I'll sleep on the couch. I do most nights anyway. As you well know."

Annie blasted the horn, her eyebrows up expectantly. "Just lay one on her and get it over with already," the girl called. "You're not getting any younger, you know."

Lisbon pinked up prettily. Jane grinned, waggling his eyebrows at her suggestively. "I will if you will," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "In your dreams."

"Oh, you have no idea," he said, still grinning. "But if you're opposed, I expect there's nothing for me to do but go home."

"Yeah," she said dryly. "I'm opposed. If you have any problems, though…"

"… then you _wouldn't_ be opposed?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. His eyes sparkled devilishly.

Lisbon swatted his arm, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Hush. I'm saying, if you have any problems with her—"

"Then I'll call you immediately. Honestly, Teresa. How incompetent do you think I am? If you feel the need to check up on me, you know where to find us."

"I do," she said, suddenly quiet.

They said final goodbyes and, assuming they were finished, Jane started to walk away. Before he got far, Lisbon pulled him back with a hand on his arm. He turned to face her.

"I just wanted to say—uh, you know," she shifted uncomfortably. "Thanks for doing this."

And then she hugged him. It was an awkward hug—this was Lisbon, after all—and by the time they disengaged, her cheeks were flaming.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said.

He smiled, practically beaming as Lisbon walked away. He was still grinning when he got in the car.

Annie shook her head as he started the car. "You're a little pathetic, Patrick. I mean, seriously… you really think she's just gonna bump uglies with you just because you took in her loser niece?"

Jane put the car in gear and looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Well… first, obviously, you're not a loser. Though you know that—you're just trying to make me feel sorry for you. Nice try." He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, pleased to note that Annie hadn't tuned him out yet.

"Secondly… 'bump uglies'?" he repeated, enclosing the phrase in air quotes with a shudder. "Really? At any rate, regardless of whether I have any interest in becoming more intimate with your aunt, I'm certainly not using you as a way to expedite the process."

She scoffed. "Yeah, right."

So much for that argument.

After some debate and a conversation about carnival life that went into much more depth than Jane had intended, Annie finally went to bed at midnight. Jane did the dishes and tidied the apartment, then settled on the sofa.

Though it was true that killing Red John had provided some sense of peace for Jane all those months ago, sleep was still as elusive as ever. He pulled a spare blanket up to his chin and turned the TV on low, in order to catch up on a few of the latest headlines before, ideally, getting some rest.

The third story in the world news segment immediately caught his attention.

"A grisly jewel heist at Istanbul's premiere jeweler, Milano Guzelis, has local police scratching their heads," an attractive British woman reported. "Security officer Ahman Haman was found slain, however only three gems were taken from the establishment before the perpetrators vandalized the store, spraying epithets and racial slurs on every available surface. This is the fourth such robbery in Europe in the past three months, which police reportedly suspect have all been committed by the same individuals."

It wasn't the crime that caught Jane's attention, however, so much as the vandalism. He got up and stood in front of the television, forehead furrowed, as he gazed at the graffiti. Most of it appeared to be in French, with the occasional odd image mixed in. One such image caught his attention: a large, solid red circle meant to be an 'O'. It was larger than the other letters, however, almost giving the appearance that someone had improvised the writing around it merely to make use of that 'O.'

It was hardly anything to go on, really, but Jane couldn't let go of a niggling suspicion at the back of his mind. Lisbon would make fun of him. _Seriously, Jane—there's this little thing we call evidence. _

He got out his computer and began surfing the internet, looking at the other heists to which the reporter had referred. All had similar M.O.'s: a guard's throat slit, typically following some form of torture prior to death; only a few items taken… And, of course, the vandalism. When he reviewed the photographs he found online, he saw the same pattern that he'd spotted with the Istanbul heist: writing that seemed scattered, random, all of it centered around a giant, solid red circle.

The items that were taken in each case were never the most expensive, but Jane noted that all were exquisite. They would certainly appeal to someone with refined tastes.

He thought of Ellie Jennings, Gale Bertram's prize pupil. She had called the former CBI Director 'Father,' referring to Red John himself as her brother. Looking at the crime scene, Jane couldn't shake the bizarre feeling that the entire thing had been staged on his behalf. That, somehow or other, Ellie was behind it.

Before he could delve into that any more deeply, he heard a noise outside his apartment: the shuffle of feet just outside the door. Instantly, he glanced back toward the bedroom where Annie was sleeping. He wasn't much defense against intruders, he knew, but he did have locks and a security system and Lisbon on speed dial.

He stood and went to the door, peering through the peephole uneasily.

A moment later, he unlocked the door and hurried out just before Lisbon vanished into the elevator.

"Wait!" he said. Loudly, as it happened—Lisbon jumped, her back turned to him.

"Jeez, Jane—give me a heart attack why don't you."

"I'm not the one prowling around someone's apartment at two a.m.," he reminded her. He looked more closely at her. "Did something happen?"

"No," she said quickly. She looked miserable—and exhausted. How long had it been since she'd slept through the night, he wondered?

"Everything's fine," she assured him. "I just… I don't know. I couldn't sleep. It was stupid—I just went out for a drive, and I ended up here."

He thought of all those nights he'd heard movement in the hallway and just dismissed it as the sounds of an old building and his overactive imagination. How often had pre-dawn drives brought Lisbon here, only for her to turn around and flee rather than knocking on his door?

"I didn't mean to wake you," she said awkwardly. "I was just gonna go back home."

"Don't be silly," he said quickly. "You're here. Come in."

"You've got Annie in there. I don't want to wake her."

"You won't," he assured her. He gave her a little push toward his apartment. After some hesitation, she took the leap and crossed his threshold.

"You got walls," she said in surprise, the moment she was through the door.

"I told you—really, Lisbon, do you ever take me at my word about anything?" He surveyed the recent division within his once-wide-open loft with pride. Not that he'd done the work, of course. But he'd overseen it quite handily. "I thought it might be nice to provide some privacy—when I have a guest, I mean."

She nodded too quickly, lowering her eyes. "Sure. I mean—yeah, that's good. I'm glad you're… having guests, Jane."

"That isn't what I meant at all," he said peevishly. "Honestly, woman, sometimes you can be awfully obtuse."

"Gee, thanks. I was trying to be nice."

"Well, stop it. It sets me off balance when you're too nice." She glared at him. That was more like it. With order restored, he made his way to the kitchen. "Can I get you some tea?"

She nodded, though she didn't look that sure of herself.

The kitchen was very modern, but Jane liked the personal touches he'd made to make the place seem more homey: an old teapot clock on the wall that Rachel Fellows had given him; a picture that Grace had gotten him of the shore; a drawing Charlotte had made for him years ago that he'd finally, after agonizing for a decade, had mounted and framed. Lisbon surveyed all of this in surprise.

"You've really settled in, huh?"

"Something you'd know if you ever visited anymore," he said. He still sounded peevish. He put the kettle on and nodded to the table, smiling to demonstrate that he wasn't holding a grudge. "Sit?"

"Sure," she said after a moment's hesitation. "But I won't stay long. I shouldn't have come—I'm keeping you up."

"Does it look like I was sleeping?"

She studied him, looking pointedly at his pajamas and bare feet. "Well—yeah. Kind of. Your hair's doing that thing it does when you sleep."

He unintentionally reached up to pat it down, knowing it had a tendency to go wild when he dozed. Lisbon smirked.

"Oh, very funny," he said dryly. "Mocking a man's hair when you know perfectly well it's got a mind of its own."

She rolled her eyes. "Please. Your hair drives women wild, and you know it. Don't pretend otherwise."

He looked at her in surprise. Their eyes held for a moment, Lisbon's cheeks going a healthy shade of pink before he nodded.

"Very well, then. I won't pretend my hair's a bother if you won't pretend you weren't hoping I would hear you prowling around in my hallway, and come out to save you from yourself."

"I was not," she bristled.

"Liar, liar," he said, in a soft sing song.

The water began to boil; Jane caught the kettle just before it whistled. Lisbon was hopeless when it came to tea—not that she couldn't make a cup of it better than anyone he'd met. Simply that she didn't have the first idea of which flavors suited which situations. As a result, he didn't even ask what she'd like; he knew what she needed, whether she believed him or not. He set a steaming cup in front of her and returned to his seat.

She sniffed at the cup, wrinkling her nose. "Chamomile?"

He nodded.

"I'm not spending the night," she said.

"That's good, because I'm not really set up for more than one Lisbon woman at the moment."

They drank their tea in companionable silence while Jane watched Lisbon, waiting for her to give him some indication of why she was there. Of course, he knew _generally _why she was there: she couldn't sleep. And no wonder, since she was still living in the apartment where her brother had been taken and she'd been attacked.

He just wasn't certain what she wanted him to _do. _

And so, he remained silent. Her eyelids began to droop the longer they sat there. Honestly, Jane was getting a little sleepy himself. And yet, she stayed.

"Why don't we move this party to the sofa?" he asked.

She hesitated. For a moment, he thought she would go. Instead, she stood unsteadily. "I'm not spending the night," she said again.

"So you've mentioned. I'm not asking you to. Just come sit with me for a minute."

She must have been even more exhausted than he'd thought, because she agreed. When they reached the couch, he picked up the blanket lying haphazard across the cushions.

"Now, lie down."

"Jane," she protested.

"Teresa," he said evenly.

"I thought you said you're only set up for one Lisbon woman at a time."

"I'm improvising. Now—honestly, woman." He held her gaze, willing her to listen to him. That had never been a problem in the past, but this new, broken Lisbon made everything much more challenging. A flicker of vulnerability shone through, softening her jagged edges.

"Please," he said quietly.

She sat on the couch, then hesitantly stretched out, coming to rest with her head on his pillow. He crouched beside her and gently brushed the hair from her eyes.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded. Something charged passed between them when his hand made contact with her cool skin. Lisbon blinked at him, watching his face with wide green eyes as he remained there for a moment, unmoving. And then, she reached out slowly—carefully, as though moving too quickly would break the spell—and traced a line along his cheekbones with her index finger. She moved lower, following his jawline.

When she reached his lips, Jane hesitated only an instant before he kissed the pads of her fingers gently, his eyes never leaving hers. He saw the spark of fear there, overriding the warmth of desire, and remained motionless. Waiting to see what she would do.

He mentally counted out five seconds before Lisbon moved forward. Jane met her halfway—this time, with no hesitation. They both paused, their lips a hair's breadth away, as though suspended in time. And then, Teresa bridged that final distance. He leaned forward, tasting the sweetness of chamomile and the gentle pressure of want on her soft lips.

It wasn't a particularly passionate kiss—no tongues touching, no breasts bared. It still stirred something deep within both of them, though—stoked a fire that had been smoldering since long before their night in Mexico. Jane felt her pulse hammering under his touch when his hand slid over her delicate wrist and up her arm.

He wanted nothing more than to continue this. Deepen the kiss; climb onto the couch with her, and hold her through the night. Instead, he pulled back. Their eyes locked, and he watched as she swallowed convulsively, her eyes dark with… something. Need? Pain? Regret? Bone-deep terror? All of the above, he thought grimly.

Before either of them could even speak, there was a cry from the bedroom. Lisbon was on her feet in an instant, automatically going for her gun. Annie cried out again, more softly this time. Jane held up his hand, motioning for Lisbon to calm down.

"Easy—how about we put the gun away for a moment. You people and your arsenals," he grumbled.

"I should check on her."

He stayed her with a hand at her shoulder, squeezing gently. "Why don't you let me? If I need you, I'll call. For now… just lie back down, hmm? Don't go anywhere. I'll be back shortly."

Teresa hesitated, then finally nodded and sat back down. Jane went to the bedroom and peered in, knocking lightly on the doorsill. Annie was sitting up with her knees to her chest, blankets pulled around her. She looked up when she saw Jane, brushing away her tears roughly with the back of her arm.

"I'm fine," she said quickly.

Jane nodded, his eyebrows raised as he indicated the threshold he had yet to cross. "May I…?"

She shrugged, trying for callous. The labored breathing and trembling gave her away, however. Jane came in and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Bad dream?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Want to talk about it?"

She shook her head.

"That's good," he said agreeably. "I never do, either. Talking rarely helps anyway. At least it hasn't in my experience."

"You have a lot of bad dreams?" she asked. He noted that her breathing had slowed, the faint tremor in her hands now gone.

He laughed darkly. "I've had my share." He nodded toward her pillow. "Here—lie back down."

"I'm not tired anymore," she said stubbornly. Her eyelids were heavy with fatigue.

"Humor me."

She lay down. The briefest flash of what his life might have been hit him—what he might be doing if Charlotte had lived: the two of them, sitting here like this. He pushed the thought aside, and focused on Annie.

"Close your eyes," he instructed, his voice quiet and even. To his surprise, she didn't argue. Maybe she wasn't as stubborn as Auntie Reese after all.

"Now, take a deep breath, and listen to your heart." He waited while she did so, breathing evenly.

She opened one eye to look at him, keeping the other tightly closed. Her skepticism was plain. "Now what?"

"Keep them closed, please. Honestly. You Lisbon women."

She squelched a smile, but closed her eyes once more.

"Good," he said. "Now, breathe again. In and out. Nothing can harm you here." She nodded, looking more vulnerable suddenly.

He thought of all the questions that had plagued him after Red John took Charlotte and Angela: whether they had suffered; if they blamed him; if they died calling his name, waiting until their last breath for him to come through that door and save him. All things he was sure Annie and Teresa were both asking themselves about Tommy. There was the faintest sound of footsteps nearby, and he knew that Teresa was listening at the doorway.

"I want you to sleep now," he said softly, speaking to both Lisbons now. He watched as the worry lines gradually smoothed in Annie's brow. Like this, she looked younger than fourteen—and a great deal like Teresa must have at this age, he suspected. "Let go of the fear and the sadness and the anger—just for tonight. They'll be waiting for you in the morning. For now… you're safe here."

_You are safe, you are loved, and you are wise. _The words played over in his head, his daughter's brilliant blue eyes gazing up at him with utmost trust.

He shut the image out.

He waited at Annie's bedside for another few minutes, until he was sure she was asleep. Then, he got up quietly and left, leaving the door open just a crack.

It was no surprise to him, but he felt a pang of disappointment regardless when he emerged from the bedroom and saw Lisbon slipping out his front door before she knew he'd returned.

She wouldn't be back, he was sure. Not tonight, anyway.

She had rinsed her cup out. Folded her blanket. Jane finished his tea, then returned to the sofa. The apartment was quiet. He thought of Lisbon, and the look in her eye just after they'd kissed. There was need there, he was sure… but there was also a world of fear. Knowing her as he did, he knew this whole situation must be killing her. This was Teresa Lisbon—_Saint Teresa. _She was the one who fixed things.

Never the one who needed fixing.

He lay down and stretched out, pulling a spare blanket up to his chin. It was chilly in the apartment. He thought of Charlotte again as he closed his eyes. Of Angie, and the life they had lived together. It felt like someone else's life now, more often than not. Sometimes, he had trouble remembering the details of that life: the smell of Charlotte's hair after a bath; the way Angie's skin felt against his.

He thought of Teresa again, with her guarded green eyes and her petulant pout.

Sleeping alone had lost its charm for him. He was tired of fighting to keep his ghosts alive, out of some perverse form of penance that he knew he could never fully pay.

Jane breathed in. He breathed out, willing himself to sleep. He thought of Ellie Jennings, and his strange feeling that she was somehow connected with those jewel heists in Europe. In the morning, he would investigate the heists more thoroughly. He would come up with a plan—because, really, that's what he did best.

In the morning. Now, however, he closed his eyes. He could still smell Lisbon on his pillow; could still taste her on his lips. He let himself drift. In the morning, he would set things in motion.

Now, he slept.

TBC

_And... there we go. The goal is to have the next chapter up on Wednesday, but I'm launching a new book on Tuesday so I may be a little late on that. Reviews, of course, always inspire me to write a little faster, ;) so I'd love to hear what you think! _


	4. Chapter Three

_A/N- Sorry I'm a day late, but I'm pleased to say my third book is officially out in the world, and as of yesterday is in Amazon's Top 100 for Women Sleuths. Hooray! You can find the series by looking up Jen Blood (that's me!) on Amazon. I'm always happy to find new readers for my RL writing! And now, onto more pressing matters... Namely, Jane and Lisbon. Thanks once again to all of you who have reviewed, providing suggestions, feedback, and general encouragement. A few of you have expressed concern about poor Lisbon and how angsty life has gotten for her. Not to worry, it's not ALL dire heartache__, and I think this chapter starts to turn things around a little bit. There are good times (and some angsty ones, I'll admit) ahead! And now, that's enough babbling from me. Time to get back to the story! _

CHAPTER THREE

Keith Montrose had left three messages on Lisbon's phone by the time she got into the office the next morning. Like she needed that right now. Honestly, if she'd known six months ago when he offered a shoulder to lean on and a bed to sleep in, just how many strings would be attached to the whole situation, she would've just invested in a new damn vibrator. And she hadn't even taken him up on the sex thing yet: they'd kissed once or twice, and she knew the detective was getting impatient. It just turned out that she wasn't really… interested, in Keith Montrose. At all. In fact, she thought he was pretty much the dullest guy she'd ever dated. If you could even call what they were doing dating.

She ignored his messages and opted for catching up on paperwork instead. It was seven a.m.—she'd managed maybe two hours of sleep after leaving Jane's, but that was it. And now… well, now all she could think of was Jane's soothing voice and the way he talked to Annie after her nightmare, when he hadn't known Lisbon was listening in. She thought about that sadness in his eyes, and how Gale Bertram was the one who'd trained Red John and Ellie to be killers. And maybe if he _hadn't_, Jane would still have a family and Annie would still have a father.

It struck Lisbon that her life wouldn't really be that different, whether Gale Bertram started his serial killer school twenty-odd years ago or not. Lisbon would still be working sixteen hour days, with no life and no one to go home to and no idea if she even dared to want to change that.

The only difference would be the definite lack of Jane in her world. That thought bothered her more than she cared to admit.

She thought of the look in his eye the night before, when he'd found her on his doorstep. Lisbon wasn't an idiot—she knew there was something between them. Once, she'd even dared to hope that maybe, after Red John was gone, they might be able to pursue that something. Jane had made no secret recently about the fact that he wanted to try. Or at least he _thought _he wanted to try. Half the time, Lisbon thought that was just a classic case of Jane wanting what he couldn't have.

On the rare occasions when she actually believed him, though, it all just seemed too complicated. And messy. And… terrifying. Since Tommy died, Lisbon felt like she'd been stripped bare. Like she was just one huge, raw, exposed nerve. Jane had seen her at her worst that week while they were trying to save her brother. He'd held her; had made his way past every boundary she had—emotional and physical. For awhile afterward, she hadn't been strong enough to push him back to arm's length again. She'd come to rely on him in ways she'd never relied on anyone before: counting on him to steady her with a simple touch, a reassuring smile; talking when she felt like it or, more likely, sitting in companionable silence as the days wore on and no leads developed on the whereabouts of her brother's killers. She'd even taken to showing up to Jane's place late at night with no explanation.

_You don't have to apologize all the time, Teresa, _he'd say to her, shepherding her inside. _I like you being here. Listening to you snore is surprisingly soothing. _And then she'd swat him and call him a jackass, because that was what was expected. They'd have tea. There was no separate bedroom in his loft then—the bed was behind a partition at the far end of the apartment, and when Lisbon lay down at night she could hear Jane moving around; doing the dishes; settling down to read. She never asked him to stay in the bed with her, and he never offered.

And then, one night, it got too hard to lie in Jane's giant bed wishing things were different. Wishing that Tommy was still alive, and she wasn't a mess, and she could just get up, walk over to the sofa, and wake Jane with a kiss that didn't stop until they were both naked and sated and all of these… feelings, these fears, just went away.

She stopped going to his apartment, after that.

At nine o'clock that morning, Jane breezed in with Annie nowhere in sight and announced to the entire office that he'd gotten the younger Lisbon a job. And that he wouldn't be around for the day.

"What do you mean, you won't be around?" Lisbon demanded. "I know you don't choose to look at it that way, but this is your _job, _Jane. You can't just _tell me_ you're not gonna be around."

"I understand that you'll miss me, Teresa, but really—I'm sure you can manage for the day."

"You know that's not what I meant," Lisbon said, glaring at Rigsby, who smothered his obvious discomfort with a fake cough. "We have a case, anyway. No taking off, Jane. Sorry."

"What case?" he challenged. He looked to Rigsby, whose eyes slid to the floor. Van Pelt cleared her throat.

"A former senator found in the bed of, well…" Grace started.

"Rich old white guy bit it while he was in bed with a hooker," Cho said without looking up from his book. He was reading Jane Austen again, which Lisbon had never really gotten the appeal of.

"Well, that's not even a case," Jane said dismissively. "Really, Lisbon—I'm sure you can handle it. Just give me a call if you really can't solve this on your own, and I'm happy to lend a hand. Otherwise, I'll be back by five to fetch Annie."

"I don't think I like her working here," Lisbon griped. "There are too many guns around. Next thing I know she'll be knocking over a liquor store." She paused and looked at Jane, widening her eyes in exaggerated alarm. "Oh, god—that's probably what this is all about. That's where you'll be today. Hell, you're probably her wheel man."

"Very funny." He rolled his eyes heavenward. "Really, Lisbon, have a little faith. I'll be back before you know it, and I'm eighty-five percent certain that Annie will take no hostages in my absence. And then tonight, your niece has requested your presence at dinner."

"Yeah, right," Lisbon scoffed.

"All right," he conceded amiably. "Then _I _have requested your presence at dinner. And Annie agreed. Seven o'clock sharp." He glanced at his watch. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I have places to be."

He left with a dramatic little bow, and followed that up with a wink at her just before he closed the door. She felt herself blushing, which just made her already-bad-mood that much worse.

Where the hell was he going?

Annie's job was doing filing and odd jobs for Rachel Fellows, the CBI's resident shrink for the past several months. Rachel and Jane hadn't gotten off on the right foot when he first started seeing her, but now the pair was thick as thieves. To be honest, it made Lisbon nervous seeing them together. The old woman had taught Jane how to knit, and now every Monday afternoon he locked himself in her office for three hours. So far, Jane had knitted Lisbon a winter hat and three scarves.

It was just plain weird, the two of them.

That was all well and good, Lisbon thought, but there was no way in hell they were gonna keep Annie happy fetching coffee and typing up notes for an eccentric old woman all day every day.

At quarter 'til five that afternoon, just like he'd promised, Jane returned to the office to pick up Annie. The rest of the team were already gone—Cho and Rigsby at a court appearance for a previous case, while Lisbon had let Van Pelt leave early for a dentist appointment. Since it was the Friday before a government-imposed long weekend, the rest of the building was quiet, as well; it could have been midnight for all the action in the building. For the past hour, Lisbon had been catching up on paperwork in relative peace.

Surprisingly enough, she hadn't actually had a bad day. For one thing, she'd managed to wrap up the case that had landed in her lap and catch the bad guy in record time _without _Jane's help, thank you very much. Plus, against all odds, Rachel Fellows had stopped by that afternoon and said she and Annie were getting along like gangbusters and she was hoping to keep the teenager on for at least a couple of weeks, if it was all right with Lisbon. Keith hadn't called once since that morning, her inbox was as close to empty as it ever got, and—as much as it pained her to admit it—Lisbon really was looking forward to dinner.

Just because Jane was a great cook, you understand. And it might be nice to spend some time with Annie. The fact that Patrick Jane would be there was just a little something extra that was really of no consequence in the grand scheme.

And if she kept repeating that to herself enough, she might even start to believe it.

When Jane arrived, Lisbon was staring at her computer screen, trying to will herself to keep being productive until dinner. He knocked on her open door lightly and came in without waiting for her response.

"Just wanted to let you know I'm picking up our charge and heading home so we can prepare the evening meal. Did you miss me?"

"Not at all," she said. "Actually, I got a lot done without you wandering around making trouble."

He grinned. "You're a terrible liar, Lisbon. You missed me; why not admit it? No worries, though—I expect I'll have everything resolved within twenty-four hours or so. And then, I'll be completely at your disposal once more."

Okay, that didn't sound good. The sparkle in his eye sealed it, though: he was definitely up to something.

"I hate it when you do that," she said.

He raised his eyebrows, all innocence. "I have no idea what you mean." He checked his watch before she could tell him in no uncertain terms _exactly _what she meant. "I suppose I should get going. Don't want Annie thinking I forgot about her. We're still on for tonight, then?"

"Are you sure that's such a good idea?" she asked. "Lately it seems like Annie can barely stand being in the same room with me. And I'm tired…"

"Stop over-thinking," Jane said, like it was just that easy. "It's just dinner. You need to eat; she needs to eat; I need to eat. It only makes sense that we all eat together."

Lisbon nodded, completely unconvinced. Though he'd said he needed to go, she noticed he wasn't falling all over himself to get out the door.

"Was there something else?" she asked. He made a show of thinking things through, studying Lisbon the whole time. Finally, she pushed her chair away from her desk and gave him her full attention. "What do you want, Jane?"

"Is your passport current?" he asked out of the blue.

"Is my…" She shook her head, sure she'd heard wrong. "Why does that matter?"

"Just curious," he said casually. Casual or not, she knew Jane never asked anything without a reason. "Did you know that nearly a third of Americans hold passports now? Whereas in 1989, it was less than three percent of the country?"

"That's great, Jane," she said, like she thought he'd gone crazy. Maybe he had. It would be just her luck: she finally found someone Annie actually liked, and he went 'round the bend after less than twenty-four hours with the kid. "Did you have a point? Because I should wrap this stuff up if I'm coming to your place tonight."

"You do _have _a passport, though. I mean… we had those fakes when we crossed the border last time, but I'm assuming…"

"Yes, I have a passport," she snapped. "Jane, what the hell is this about? Truth, please."

He smiled mysteriously. "Soon, Lisbon. Soon. It would be premature to say anything until arrangements have been made."

God, he drove her nuts. Before she could either tell him to get the hell out or went over and strangled him, her cell rang. Of course, that meant Jane _really _made no move to go. Especially when he saw the look on her face as soon as she realized who it was.

He grinned. "So, the bloom's off the rose, I see," he said when she didn't answer the call. She chose to ignore him. He nodded toward her phone. Jane didn't really get the point when people tried to ignore him. "With Detective Montrose, I mean. First canceling dinner with him last night, and now you're not taking his calls…"

"I didn't _cancel _dinner, Jane. You and Annie showed up at my table when she was supposed to be halfway across the country. Sorry, but that kind of killed the mood."

"Oh, nonsense," he said lightly. "You lost interest in that boor weeks ago. Otherwise, you would have just slept with him and been done with it. Instead, you're dragging it out, limping along trying to convince yourself that you're better off with him when you know perfectly well there's no chemistry there."

She frowned irritably, annoyed that—as usual—Jane had read the whole goddamn thing perfectly. It was almost enough to make her keep going out with Keith just to prove him wrong.

Almost.

"He's not really my type," she said instead. He smiled—or smirked, more like it, his eyes sparkling.

"You don't say."

"Shut up. He's a nice guy—there's just no…"

"Spark?" Jane said. He took a step closer, his eyes on her. She felt the tension ratchet up in her shoulders, heat coiled low in her stomach at the look on his face. For just a second, she thought of that night in Mexico: the feel of his soft lips, the scrape and burn of his stubble, the gentle pressure of his teeth. She'd never slept with anyone who knew her better, and the result was a little… overwhelming. And—

She looked up suddenly when she realized Jane was now standing at her desk, gazing at her with a very dangerous look in his eye. Like he knew exactly what she'd been thinking.

She stood so fast she almost knocked her chair over, blushing until her cheeks burned. "I thought you had to go," she said. "Isn't Annie waiting for you?"

He grinned at her. Smirked. Whatever. "We have some time- I came back early so I'd have the pleasure of your company for a few minutes. Tell me: what were you thinking just then? Because it's got you decidedly off-balance."

"Screw you, Jane. I wasn't thinking anything."

"Interesting choice of words." He took another step toward her. His hand closed around her wrist, and she knew he was checking her pulse—which was galloping. His voice was low and rough when he spoke again, like a physical caress. "I think you may have been having impure thoughts, Saint Teresa. Not that I have any problem with that, of course."

She rolled her eyes and grabbed her coffee cup, in the vain hope that she might outrun him if she just took off for the other room. Right. Because God knew Jane was that easy to get rid of.

"You know you don't have to run, Teresa," he said, following her to the break room. His voice was still light, and there was no missing the humor in his eyes. "What do you think I'm going to do, push you up against that wall and have my way with you?"

He nodded toward the wall closest to them, his voice still low. Which of course made Lisbon think immediately of what it would be like if he _did _push her up against the wall and have his way with her.

Which he, being Patrick Friggin' Jane, of course knew. His eyes danced, his smile downright gleeful. She pushed him back—they were both at the coffeepot, and he was hovering way too close for comfort.

"Would you give me a little space? Jeez, Jane. What if someone walked in right now?"

"Then they'd see me annoying you in much the same way I've annoyed you for a decade. But no one's going to walk in, as you well know- the place is empty."

She wasn't convinced, but she knew it was pointless arguing. It was almost always pointless arguing with Jane.

"You're awfully prickly this afternoon, Teresa," he continued. "Your shoulders are bunched so tight I'm surprised you can move."

"My shoulders are fine."

She turned away to pour herself a fresh cup of stale coffee. The moment her back was turned, she could feel him get closer. The thing about Jane, though, was that for some reason his hovering wasn't quite so… hover-y as other guys she'd known. He had that way about him, so that even when she was tense and irritable, his presence seemed to slow things down for her. She sensed more than felt him behind her, and then a second later his hands landed on her shoulders. He squeezed gently.

"Jane," she protested. It was a token effort and he knew it.

"Hush, woman," he said softly, his mouth at her ear. "Sit." He nodded toward the closest chair. "Just for a minute. Let me do this."

Completely against her better judgment, she sat. Jane situated himself behind her again, standing above her with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. Since they'd gotten back from Mexico, he had started taking care of himself—hell, she'd even caught him at the gym a couple of times. He always looked out of place among all the gym rats there, but once she'd shown up at the pool when he was just finishing laps and…

She closed her eyes. Yeah, she was so not going there.

Jane kneaded her shoulders gently, using just enough pressure to ease some of the knots. She moaned softly when he hit one of her worst trouble spots. He paused.

"Why'd you stop?" she asked. She turned to look him in the eye. She could barely find a trace of that greenish-blue spark, his pupils were so dilated. "Jane?"

He blushed. Patrick Friggin' Jane, master of biofeedback, _blushed._ "Uh… nothing, I just—here, turn back around. I'll keep going."

"That's all right—I'm all right," she said. She meant it, actually. There was something about the man's hands that just… _did things_, for her. Not even sexually—though after their night together in Mexico, there was no denying their chemistry in that department. But generally speaking, for a guy who could drive her completely nuts with just a glance, Jane had an undeniably soothing effect on her.

She got up, but Jane made no move to step back—which meant they were practically toe to toe when she turned around. His hand was at her elbow, his thumb moving in soothing circles on her arm. She blinked, not sure which urge she should be fighting more: the one that was telling her to run for her life, or the one telling her to lean in that fraction of an inch and just kiss him already. She wet her lips; Jane's eyes darkened even more.

Her hand settled at his side, undecided. She thought of Tommy. The first picture that came to mind now was him in that damn chair—tied there, scared out of his mind, bruised and bleeding. Expecting her to save him, the way he'd expected her to save him since he was a little kid.

This was stupid. She dropped her hand from Jane's side, like she was touching something scalding. Jane didn't let her go, though.

"I have to finish up my paperwork," she said.

"It's all right to feel something other than pain, Teresa," he said. All the lightness was gone from his voice.

"That's not—" She shook her head, appalled to find herself dangerously near tears. "That's not what this is about, Jane. I just… I can't, all right? We're not…"

His eyes never left hers, daring her to finish that thought. "We're not what?" he asked. His hand moved from her elbow to her face, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. He cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin there. "Compatible? Right for each other? Consenting adults with more baggage than an airline?"

His body was warm against hers. She was so tired of fighting it… So tired of fighting everything. She swallowed hard.

"Jane…"

He smiled, and it was that smile that ultimately tipped the scales. It wasn't the dazzling Patrick Friggin' Jane smile she'd come to know well; this was something infinitely more understanding. He knew her. Knew who she was; what she'd seen. Her hand landed on his side again, her fingers fisting in the rough fabric of his jacket. She pulled him closer, leaning up to meet his lips.

And then, she froze.

"Uh—sorry, I can come back," a voice said from the doorway. Annie's voice.

Lisbon shoved Jane back so hard he almost landed on the floor. "No," she said quickly. "We were just, uh—"

"Getting ready to suck face?" Annie supplied helpfully.

Lisbon would have rolled her eyes, except she was blushing so hard her cheeks were about to burst into flames. Jane, on the other hand, appeared completely composed. A little turned on, maybe, but otherwise not even a little bit concerned at what had almost happened. And what Annie had almost walked in on. God, what the hell was she doing?

"How was work?" Jane asked, instead of dignifying Annie's comment with a response. Annie smirked at him. He smirked right back.

"Good," Annie said. She seemed sincere about that- or else she was simply as desperate as Lisbon was to move past what she'd almost walked into. "Dr. Fellows is actually pretty cool for an old lady. But she was headed home, so she said I should come up here…"

"And she was right," Jane agreed. He looked at Lisbon. The smile was still there, but she could see just a hint of concern in his eye, too. The fact that he was even a little worried made her feel oddly reassured.

"We best be on our way if we're going to have dinner prepared on time," he said. Annie frowned.

"I can't believe you're making me cook."

"I'm not _making you _cook," Jane said. "I'm _allowing you _to assist while _I _cook. You see the difference? Now, come on." He nodded toward the door and turned Annie in that direction, giving her a subtle push. "No more dallying."

He smiled at Lisbon, purposely brushing against her as he walked past. This was the dazzling, pearly-white smile again. "I'll see you at seven, Teresa. Don't be late."

And with that, he walked out. Lisbon stood there for a long time, thinking of the feel of his hand on her face. How warm his body was; how sure his touch. She closed her eyes. "This is such a bad idea," she said softly.

And then, she went back into her office and called Keith Montrose.

By the time she hung up twenty minutes later, there was no longer any question whether or not she and the detective were dating. She had no idea what this thing with Jane was, and she had every reason to believe that going anywhere with it was a monumentally bad idea… but the fact that she was even entertaining the notion told her all she needed to know about her future with Keith.

For better or worse, Teresa Lisbon left the CBI at six o'clock that evening, a single woman.

TBC

_And for our next chapter: Dinner, dancing, and general frivolity. And, oh yeah, some creepy serial killer-ness. Hey, I've gotta fit the plot in there somewhere. I'd love to hear your thoughts on our progress so far! _


	5. Chapter Four

_I'm back. Do you ever have those chapters that are just beasts from start to finish? This was one of those chapters. Hopefully, I managed to tie everything together, but it was touch-and-go for awhile there! Thanks again to everyone for such wonderful comments and feedback; I'm so glad to hear everyone's enjoying this so far! _

CHAPTER FOUR

"Hey, did you know Rachel used to work for the Secret Service?" Annie asked as Jane drove them home. He smiled subtly, pleased with himself. Clearly, pairing Annie with Rachel Fellows was one of his more ingenious plans.

"Did she?" he asked. Though of course he knew perfectly well.

"Yeah," Annie said enthusiastically. "She's been the shrink for serial killers, assassins, thieves… I mean, it's like she's the go-to head shrinker for the worst psychos in the world."

"You don't say," Jane said as he turned a corner.

"She let me look through a bunch of the old files, too," Annie bragged. "Of course, most of the good stuff was blacked out, but there were some totally gross pictures."

He wrinkled his nose in distaste. The Lisbon women really were a macabre lot. Annie fell silent for a few seconds, lost in thought. He glanced at her, not entirely sure what to expect next. Finally, Annie sighed.

"What time is Reese coming over?"

"Seven o'clock."

"I can make myself scarce if you want," she offered. "Let you two have the place to yourselves so you can, you know…"

"Bump uglies?" he supplied. She grinned. "That's very generous of you, but I don't think that will be necessary."

She didn't say anything, considering that. They were nearly to the loft before Annie spoke again.

"My old man didn't really date much, you know," she said. She stared out the window, her voice distant. "I guess he was afraid it'd upset me. He paid attention to that stuff… he wasn't the screw-up everybody says he was."

Jane pulled into the parking lot, considering her words. "You two had something very special," he said. She looked at him, uncharacteristically vulnerable. A moment passed while she struggled with a question he was sure she'd wanted to ask for some time.

"Did he say anything… before he died? I mean—you were there, right? You were there when that guy killed him."

He'd known this would come up; he just hadn't expected it quite so soon. His policy had always been honesty at any cost—he knew what it felt like when strangers lied to your face with pity in their eyes. He wouldn't inflict that on anyone.

It was more difficult in this case, though.

He thought back to that day: the heat bearing down, Lisbon beside him… and Tommy, already half-dead, waiting for a miracle.

"He was very brave," Jane said honestly.

She looked up at that, as though he'd thrown her a life preserver in stormy seas. "What do you mean?"

"Lisbon never told you about that day?" he asked, honestly curious.

"Just that he got taken hostage. And that he got shot."

"This woman—Ellie Jenkins—tried to get your aunt to choose between your father's life and an entire orphanage."

"And I guess I know which choice Reese made," Annie said, her voice suddenly hard.

"It's not quite so simple as that—which I suspect you already know. Your father _told her_ to choose the others," Jane said. "He wanted you to be proud of him—to know he would sacrifice himself."

"Great," she said without enthusiasm. "I'm so glad he could think of all those other kids, without thinking twice about what his own kid would do when he was gone." When Jane didn't say anything, she looked at him. "What did Aunt Reese do?"

Jane thought of the torment on Lisbon's face that day; the agony of being forced to make an impossible decision.

"She couldn't make the choice," he said. "Your father told me I'd have to do it for her. And I would have," he told her, his eyes never leaving Annie's. "If it came down to it, I would have carried Reese out of there."

"Why?" Annie demanded. Her voice broke. "You don't think my dad deserved to live? That I didn't deserve to grow up with a father?"

"What do you think your father's life would have been like, knowing that dozens of children were murdered because your aunt didn't have the strength to make the right call? What do you think your aunt's would have been? It was the only choice…" He paused, wetting his lips. This was far weightier fare than he'd planned for their evening. "I know it's no comfort, really, but your father died a noble death. But none of it was Teresa's fault—or mine, for that matter. The choice was taken out of our hands at the last moment."

"And that's when that CBI guy killed him," Annie said.

Jane nodded. Silence fell for seconds that turned to minutes while Annie sat there going over what he'd said. Finally, he cleared his throat and looked at her seriously.

"I know that you're grieving," he said. "And believe me when I say I understand: the thoughts that go through one's head during this time are far from rational. But the blame for your father's death doesn't lie at your aunt's feet. If she could have given her life that day so your father could have lived, she would have done it without a second's thought. In fact, she was prepared to do exactly that. That's not what Ellie wanted, though. Ellie wanted to inflict the maximum amount of damage that she could…"

"So, she tried to get Aunt Reese to choose to kill my dad," Annie said softly. Understanding was just beginning to dawn in her eyes. It would take some time, Jane knew, before the girl finally reconciled what he was telling her with the emotions roiling inside, but it was a beginning.

"I still can't…" Annie shrugged ineloquently. "I know it doesn't make sense. I know I should be able to just let it go. But all I can think about is how scared Dad must have been." She looked at Jane, her eyes brimming with tears. Her lip trembled as she held herself together with that formidable Lisbon will. "She hurt him, didn't she? That woman—Ellie? She tortured him?"

Jane hesitated. This once, he was prepared to lie. Before that lie could fall from his lips, however, a question occurred to him. "How do you know that?"

"Somebody sent some stuff," she said numbly. "After Dad died, I mean. They mailed them to Uncle Jimmy's house, for me."

Jesus. For once, Jane found himself speechless. Outside, the wind blew a paper bag across the parking lot. A couple of bums he'd gotten to know well tottered past. Jane closed his eyes, tired beyond words of the psychopaths that populated his world.

"You have those pictures now?" he asked.

"They're in my suitcase. Upstairs."

"You never told your aunt?"

She shook her head. "There's a bunch of other stuff in there—writing, about how Dad dying was yours and Aunt Reese's fault. There's a videotape, but I…" she stopped, a tear slipping down her cheek. She brushed it away roughly, glaring out at the night. "I couldn't watch it."

"Good," Jane said firmly.

He turned in his seat so he could look at her fully. Anyone else would have fallen apart in the face of all this, but Annie truly was Teresa's niece. He studied her for a moment before he spoke. The temptation was to simply hypnotize her; help her forget. Force her to heal. But she was doing well enough on her own—she didn't need his parlor tricks to move on with her life. She would never be the same, he knew, but she would survive. That's what Lisbons did, after all.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She laughed and rolled her eyes and cried in a single motion, then wiped the tears away again and nodded, sniffling wetly. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Good. Now, we're going to go upstairs and you're going to give me those pictures and whatever else was delivered to you. And _then, _we're going to make dinner for your aunt."

"Are you gonna show her the pictures?"

"Yes," he said grimly, without a moment's hesitation.

"You don't think they'll just make her feel worse?" Annie asked doubtfully. "That's sure as hell what they did for me."

"They will. But I won't lie to protect her—I've tried that before, and it never works out well for either of us. This whole thing will make her feel worse… and then it will make her angry. And right now, your aunt needs to get a little angry. It's time we put this bitch in the ground."

Annie's eyes widened. A hint of a grin played at the corners of her lip. "Whoa. Nice. That's pretty badass, Patrick."

He grinned back at her. "Meh. I think you Lisbon women are starting to rub off on me."

Lisbon knocked on Jane's door at seven o'clock sharp that evening. Of course, the music blaring from his apartment meant that he didn't hear her right away—he and Annie were having an impromptu concert, while Annie acquainted him with the joys of classic rock n' roll. Jane was certain his ears were bleeding, but he made a valiant effort to keep that to himself.

In the meantime, Annie was in the kitchen mixing garlic smashed potatoes, her hips moving subtly to the rhythm while Jane put the finishing touches on his famous rack of lamb. Lisbon stood awkwardly in the door with a bottle of wine until Jane noticed her. He took the wine from her with a welcoming smile.

"Teresa! Just the person I wanted to see—I was trying to teach your niece to appreciate the mastery of Chopin's Prelude in E Minor when she absconded with my radio."

Annie grinned at them both, a genuine light in her eyes. Since their frank discussion in the car, Jane could sense a change in the girl. She was still processing, he knew, and the pain would never fully go away, but the young were enviably resilient. She was beginning to heal.

And now, he'd decided that Annie had done quite enough hard work chasing her inner demons for the day. God knew Lisbon could use a reprieve. And so, Jane vowed, tonight he would provide that reprieve… up until he had to break Teresa's heart all over again, of course, by showing her what Ellie had sent Annie.

"You like Queen, right, Aunt Reese?" Annie asked. "They were one of Dad's favorites."

Jane waited curiously, interested to see whether Teresa would be able to speak of her brother, or would put Annie off. It had been years before he'd been able to talk about even his fond memories of Angie and Charlotte… but Teresa was stronger than that. He wasn't particularly surprised when she nodded, making a concerted effort to maintain her equilibrium.

"Yeah," Lisbon said. "Your dad and I used to have all their records—he'd lip sync to Freddy Mercury while I played drums."

A quick wash of sadness crossed Annie's face before she quite deliberately pushed it aside, nodding to the potatoes she was still mashing.

"Patrick and I are making you dinner."

Jane shook his head. "Oh, your aunt doesn't get off so easily as that." He nodded toward a butcher block table piled high with vegetables. "You're in charge of the salad, _Reese_." He drew the name out, curious to see Lisbon's response. She rolled her eyes at him, but she didn't object. "Dinner should be up in fifteen."

"It smells incredible," Lisbon said. Jane took her coat, noting the lovely flowered blouse and requisite jeans she wore beneath. Since the jeans didn't sag like everything else she wore lately, he was guessing they were new. She rolled up her sleeves—literally—and set to work.

Within minutes, the three of them were chopping and stirring and laughing, music playing more quietly now in the background. By the time dinner was on the table, Lisbon was regaling Annie with tales of her time in the police academy. The girl listened with rapt attention, interjecting occasionally with surprisingly knowledgeable tidbits about the Force.

"You know an awful lot about California law enforcement for a kid from Chicago," Lisbon noted. Annie shrugged.

"I told you—I want to be a cop. Dad used to take me to the shooting range, and there were a couple detectives there who'd talk to me about it. Plus I've been studying on my own."

"Maybe Reese could take you to the range sometime," Jane suggested. Lisbon glared at him. "What?" he asked her. "It's not like I'm that much fun when you take me."

Annie smirked. "You take _Patrick _to the gun range?" As though the idea was ridiculous. Jane bristled.

"I'll have you know I'm getting quite good," he retorted.

"Yeah," Lisbon said, deadpan. "He's even gotten so far as holding my Glock while I work on my sharp shooting."

Annie's smirk grew wider. "You don't even shoot while you're there?" Annie asked. "That's just sad, Patrick."

"I'll never understand your obsession with guns," Jane said, shaking his head with exaggerated melancholy. "I mean, really. Freud would have a field day."

"Rachel says Freud was full of shit," Annie said bluntly, piling a second helping of potatoes on her plate.

"Language, please," Lisbon said. It came out automatically, as much a reflex as any of those other maternal habits Jane suspected Lisbon had developed at the tender age of twelve. "Rachel doesn't like Freud either, huh? Well, there you go. I knew I liked her for a reason."

"You like Rachel?" Annie asked.

"Yeah," Lisbon said. "Why? Did somebody say I didn't?" She cast an accusatory eye toward Jane, who raised his hands in innocence. Annie shook her head.

"No, it's not that," the girl said quickly. "I just… it seems like she'd be a little too, y'know…" she trailed off. Lisbon raised her eyebrows, slightly more on edge now. "…I don't know, _in touch_. Like, with her feelings and stuff."

"I'm in touch with my feelings," Lisbon said defensively. Neither Jane nor Annie said anything. She looked at Jane. "I am!"

"Of course you are, my dear," he said soothingly.

"Don't patronize me—I _am,_" she insisted.

"That's why you work like a hundred hours a week, and you go out with a guy with the emotional depth of a block of wood, and—" Annie began. There was no malice in her tone, however. Jane's lips twitched, once he realized Lisbon wasn't taking too much offense.

"Someone needs to lay off the Dr. Phil," Lisbon griped. She paused. When she spoke again, her gaze was focused so completely on her potatoes that it looked as though she was trying to burn a hole through them. "And Keith has more emotional depth than a block of wood." She wet her lips, her focus still on those magical potatoes. "But it doesn't matter, anyway, because we aren't seeing each other anymore."

Jane couldn't help it—he grinned so widely that it felt like his face would split. Lisbon rolled her eyes at him.

"Don't start."

"I didn't say a word," he said.

"You didn't have to."

"Did he dump you, or did you dump him?" Annie inquired with her usual subtlety.

"She dumped him," Jane answered immediately. "He was a boor, but he wasn't an idiot. As long as she was showing even a modicum of interest, he wouldn't have broken up with our Teresa."

He expected an eye roll from her at that, but instead Lisbon blushed. Jane's pulse picked up a bit. Interesting.

"It was a mutual decision," Lisbon lied.

Oh, this was good.

After dinner came cleanup. In other circumstances, Jane would have insisted on doing that himself so his guests could visit, but by doing that he knew he was dooming Lisbon and Annie to idle chitchat with the potential to wander in any number of damaging directions. Instead, he assigned Lisbon the task of choosing the music this time, and the three of them tackled the dishes together.

"Haven't you ever heard of cleaning as you go?" Lisbon asked, eyeing the mountain of pots and pans unhappily.

"That only limits the creative process, Lisbon. Cooking is about passion, not order."

"Still," Lisbon said, "would it kill you to find a little middle ground?"

"I didn't hear any complaints when you were helping yourself to the last of my lamb."

She swatted his arm, but she couldn't hide her blush. He was really starting to enjoy that pink glow to her cheeks. After some fiddling, Lisbon eventually settled on a station that devoted Friday evenings to '90s retro. Jane stood back a moment, smiling, when Lisbon and Annie stood together at the sink, both shimmying ever-so-subtly to something Jane vaguely recalled from the old days—INXS, he thought.

It was January—cool outside, and pleasantly warm in. The apartment still smelled of lamb and spices, Teresa and Annie's laughter light beneath the music. Suddenly, a memory struck with such force that Jane was paralyzed for a moment:

Charlotte and Angie in the kitchen of their Malibu home, The Four Tops playing loudly. Angie loved Motown.

Charlotte was covered in flour from head to toe, wearing an apron that dragged to her feet and the chef's hat Angela had gotten Jane as a joke for his birthday.

_We're cooking, Daddy. You know kitchen time's always better with dancing. _

_Come dance with us, Paddy, _Angie said—her lovely eyes shining, her long hair pulled back from her face. He remembered the spot of flour on her cheek; the way that she smelled and the laughter in her voice.

He came to himself suddenly, realizing that Lisbon was looking at him. There was a level of empathy in her gaze that they'd never shared before. It felt as though she was looking straight into his soul.

"You all right, Jane?" Teresa asked.

_I have to go, _he'd said to his wife and daughter, that last night. The last time he saw them alive. _I'm late for the show. I'll dance with my girls later, though. Promise. _

"Jane?" Lisbon asked.

He wondered if every good moment in his life from now on would be laced with the bittersweet memory of those he'd lost.

Teresa walked to him and took his hand, pulling him out of himself—something he was supposed to be doing for her, he realized.

"Come on, Jane. Get over here and give us a hand." There was a touch of tenderness to her tone, despite her words.

He took one more second to pull himself back to the present, holding tight to Lisbon's hand. Die with the past, or live in the present… it seemed he'd been facing that choice for far too long.

Before Lisbon could reclaim her hand, Jane pulled her to him.

"I think I'd prefer a dance first."

He spun her handily into the open living room despite her protests, keeping their movement fluid and light, his hand pressed to the small of her back. INXS gave way to a song he actually knew well. Even when he was young, he'd preferred classical to mainstream pop music, but Angie's childhood friend Emmett had been an audiophile mad for Top 40. This was one of the few songs from Emmett's collection that Jane had actually liked: "No Rain."

Sophie had reintroduced Jane to the song when he was institutionalized. Rather than being depressed by that fact now, however, he found himself recalling with gratitude that first glimmer of light the psychiatrist brought into his life.

He maneuvered Teresa back into the kitchen, and took Annie's hand. "Come on," he said firmly. "No wallflowers in this apartment."

"I don't dance," Annie said sourly.

"Nonsense. Everyone dances."

And so that's exactly what they did, with the music as loud as it would go and Jane occasionally showboating with a little soft shoe, spins and twirls and even an improvised jitterbug with Teresa. He was pleased to see both Annie and Lisbon laughing before long, a healthy flush to their cheeks and light in their eyes.

After their impromptu dance party, they finished the dishes, then sat down and played a few hands of Texas Hold 'Em before Annie stood abruptly.

"Listen, if you don't mind, I'm just gonna head to bed."

"You don't have to do that," Lisbon said quickly. "I should get going, anyway."

Jane noted that she didn't look especially happy about that.

"Don't go on my account," Annie said. "I've got a couple movies; I'm just gonna watch those."

He thought Lisbon might miss the significance of that, but he should have known better. Lisbon never missed the significance of anything.

"What are you watching the movies on?"

"Patrick got me a TV," Annie said, before Jane could intervene with a less inflammatory way of putting it. Lisbon's eyes narrowed.

"He _what_?"

"It's not really for _her,_" he reassured Lisbon. Unconvincingly, he knew. "But I've been wanting one—you know how I love my nature shows. So, I got a TV for the bedroom." It was a bald-faced lie: Jane loathed the idea of having a television anywhere near the bedroom and always had. But he'd thought a distraction might help with Annie's nightmares, so…

Lisbon was looking at him strangely. He half-expected an argument; instead, she shrugged. "Fine—it's your place. What are you watching?" she asked Annie.

"_Saw I _through _IV_," the girl answered promptly. Lisbon cast an accusing glance at Jane. Even he had to admit he was a little unsettled at the thought. Annie rolled her eyes. "Relax—God, you two. I got _Iron Man_ and _The Avengers, _okay? They're two of my favorites. Is that all right?"

Lisbon nodded. "Yeah, of course. But don't feel like you have to hole up in there on our account."

"I know," Annie said lightly. There was no mistaking her tension when she left the room, however. She and Jane had already discussed the best way for him to broach the subject of the gruesome material Ellie had sent, and had ultimately agreed that it would be best for him to break the news to Teresa when they were alone. Annie cast a sympathetic look toward her aunt before she retired to the bedroom.

When she was gone, Jane poured another glass of wine without asking Lisbon if she wanted it. She shook her head firmly.

"I've already had a couple glasses—I'll switch to water. I still have to drive home."

"You don't," Jane said. "Not really. You could stay here."

"Yeah, that's setting a great example for Annie: sleeping on the couch with my consultant."

"You don't have to sleep on the couch. I got you something while I was out today, as well."

"Jane," she protested.

"Relax, woman. It's not diamonds." He went to the closet and pulled out a trundle bed. When he unfolded it, it was already made with fresh sheets. "You can have your pick: this or the couch. I'll admit it isn't the best solution, but it will do until I close on the house."

Her jaw dropped. "The _what_?"

"I bought a house," he said, with as casual an air as he could affect. "I never signed a lease for this apartment, and it's not as though I haven't done major renovations to the place. The landlord was sorry to see me go, of course, but it was no problem."

"Why did you buy a house?" She practically squeaked when she said it.

He was tempted to lay everything on the table, but he knew she'd be out the door before he got the first sentence out. He shrugged. "This doesn't suit my needs any longer. I miss having rooms—one giant space feels too much like the CBI attic. I'm trying to re-assimilate."

"So you bought a house."

"Precisely."

"And a cot, for me."

"Or me," he said agreeably. "I told you: whichever you prefer."

"Jane—" she began seriously.

He met her eye, still working to keep things light. They'd have plenty of serious later, but he wanted to get this out of the way now. "Don't get freaked out, Teresa. Not everything is about you." _Just everything having to do with me, _he added silently.

There was no hiding her skepticism, but at last she gave up with a heavy sigh.

"Fine. You're a grown man—why should it bother me if you buy a house? But if for some weird reason you're buying a house so Annie and I can move in…"

"That's awfully presumptuous, Teresa," he said. He pushed the wine toward her again, pleased that she accepted this time—seemingly without even realizing she was doing so.

The Best of the '90s were still playing in the background. They sat in companionable silence until Jane recognized the song that came on next, just moments before Teresa did. He took her glass and set it aside.

"I believe they're playing our song."

He was pleased to note a return of that subtle pink flush to her cheeks. "This isn't our song, Jane."

"It's the song we danced to at that reunion. Surely you haven't forgotten," he said, affecting wounded pride. "Or do we have some other song I'm not aware of?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it. We don't have a song."

"So, does that mean you won't grant me one more dance?"

She rolled her eyes and grudgingly held out her hand. He took it, pulling her up with a small grin.

Despite the weight she'd dropped in recent months, Lisbon still fit well in his arms. But then, she always had.

"You didn't have to buy Annie that TV, you know," she said, before they'd been dancing twenty seconds. The woman couldn't let anything go. "You're gonna spoil her."

"You two could use some spoiling," he murmured, his mouth close to her ear. She smelled like all the best things in the world, her scant curves pressed to him. For a moment, he felt her tense in his arms. A second or two passed, while he waited for her to decide what would happen next. She shifted until she was looking at him.

Her emerald eyes were wide, no small trace of fear there. He gazed back at her evenly, honestly curious. It was rare that Jane couldn't predict what would happen next, but he found himself at a loss this time. More than anything, he expected an argument: all the reasons they couldn't do what he knew she wanted to do. Instead, Lisbon's gaze fell to his lips. She leaned up. One of them should be reasonable, he knew, but at the moment he didn't know who that would be.

It certainly wasn't going to be him.

He met her halfway. Her hands fisted in his shirt, her body pressed to his. They'd kissed before, of course, but there had always been _reasons _for those kisses—outside influences driving them together.

Now, it was just them.

Jane let her lead at first, content to follow when she pressed her tongue past his lips, her mouth sweet and her body moving with increasing urgency against his. When she nipped his lip, however, his self control gave out. He slid his hand to the back of her head, his fingers twined in her silken hair as he steered them both back toward the couch. When her determined hands slid dangerously close to his belt, however, he decided it was time someone came to their senses.

He stayed her movement with monumental will, breathing heavily. "We should probably wait on that."

She drew her hand back abruptly and stood, reaching for her jacket. "I'm sorry." Her cheeks were burning. "This was a bad idea."

He grabbed her wrist before she could race for the door, and pulled her back to him. "Oh no you don't—no running. You're better than that. Trust me when I say the very last thing I want to do is stop this."

She smiled unexpectedly, her gaze falling deliberately to his lap. "Uh—yeah, Jane. I can see _exactly_ how much you don't want to stop. But you're right: Annie's here. The last thing she needs is to come out for a drink of water and find us going at it on your couch."

"Teresa," he said gravely, "I have never_, _nor will I ever, _go at it, _with anyone. I make love… have sex… occasionally, under the right circumstances, am not opposed to a good fuck. Teenagers _go at it._" Her eyes had gotten darker at that last bit. Catholic or no, he'd always suspected Teresa liked a little dirty talk under the right circumstances. "But I take your point. Any way you slice it, it wouldn't be good for Annie to walk in on something."

"Well, I'm glad we agree on something, at least." Her voice was a shade huskier than normal. Jane waited for her to reclaim her hand and remove herself from his apartment. To his surprise, she did neither. Instead, she sat back down.

"There is actually another reason that I stopped, though," he admitted. His stomach felt sour, his heartbeat irregular. Apparently any mastery he usually had over his biorhythms was shot to hell where Teresa Lisbon was concerned.

"Look, Jane, I don't know what I'm doing right now. If you're looking for some kind of commitment, or a—"

He put his index finger to her lips, gathering his resolve. "Will you hush, woman? This isn't about us." He hesitated a moment too long. She stiffened visibly, withdrawing from him.

"What is it?"

"Annie told me something about Ellie today."

She didn't say anything, waiting expectantly. Jane swallowed past his trepidation, got up from the sofa, adjusted his trousers, and retrieved the envelope Annie had given him. Lisbon tried to grab it from him, but he held it away.

"Wait," he said, holding the envelope out of reach.

"You understand I'll kick your ass if you don't give that to me, right?" she ground out. She stopped fighting him at the look in his eye, however, sensing his gravity. "What is it?" she asked. Her dread was palpable.

"Ellie sent these to Annie a couple of months ago."

Rather than sitting back down with her on the sofa, he led them to the kitchen table. It spoke to just how profound Lisbon's anxiety was, that she didn't immediately pounce on the envelope once he set it down this time. Instead, she sat down quietly with her hands folded in front of her, staring down at the table. When she made no move to open the envelope, Jane removed the contents and placed them—a DVD, manila folder, and a handwritten note—in front of her.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"I know," she said. "Everybody's sorry. It doesn't do much good, does it?"

He let out a small puff of a laugh, nodding. "No, it doesn't. Would you like… uh, I could leave you alone if you'd like."

"No. Stay." Too late, she seemed to realize how needy that sounded. She made an attempt to gather her resolve before she spoke again. "Please. If you don't mind."

"Of course." He sat down.

Lisbon scanned the handwritten note at the top of the pile, a flash of anger crossing her face. It was two pages long; Jane had already memorized it from start to finish. It was the end, he knew, that would throw her most off-kilter.

_I know how difficult it is to learn your aunt was complicit in the loss of your father, Annie. I hope that you'll learn to use that anger, that deep-seated hunger that will invariably make your life so much brighter right now. You are alive. You are strong. Use those feelings; savor them. Your aunt was too weak to save your father from me. She stood by while I cut him; watched while he bled. But I know you are so much stronger than that. Just imagine what you could have done in her place. What you will do, when we at last meet in person. Your father spoke so highly of you… I'm looking forward to getting to know you better, my dear girl. _

"What the hell does she mean?" Lisbon asked, whispering the words. She didn't look up from the note. "Do you think she's coming after Annie?"

"That's my guess," he agreed. "Or else she'll try to get Annie to come after her. I think she's safe for the moment, but we'll need to be a bit more aware than we have been."

Lisbon pushed the note aside without further comment and opened the folder. Jane had already gone through, of course. His heart constricted painfully as Teresa went through each gruesome photo, one by one. It seemed she was powerless to stop her tears, now. Jane watched the emotions play on her face: sorrow, disgust, anger… and deep, impenetrable pain.

"Annie saw these?" Teresa asked, when she at last could speak. She brushed her tears away impatiently.

Jane nodded. "Ellie sent them to your brother's house."

"Jimmy? Then he's seen…?"

"No. Annie didn't show anyone—she didn't want to upset anyone else."

"Oh my god," Lisbon whispered softly, her gaze locked on a photo of Tommy, bound and gagged. Bleeding. She'd gone very pale. "Jesus, Jane. How could she do this? How the hell does anyone do something like this?"

"I don't pretend to understand anyone's motivations—though with Ellie, I believe we're dealing with a brand of psychopath like few we've met before. Red John was meticulous, orderly, and in complete control of his impulses. I believe Ellie approaches this entire thing as a game… if Bertram hadn't intervened last time, I doubt she would have made it out of Loreto alive. We may have been killed in the process, of course, but someone would have caught up with her. She's reckless; unhinged."

"And she kills for the fun of it," Lisbon said numbly.

"I believe so, yes."

She continued to stare at the photos, her index finger tracing the lines of her brother's haggard face. Jane took the folder from her and closed it gently. When Lisbon looked at him this time, it was with a pain rawer than any she'd ever allowed him to see before. She scrubbed a hand across her face, pausing to rub her temple—where a migraine was most likely setting in.

"Tell me what to do," she said, so quietly he barely heard her. Her eyes slid from his, her shoulders sagging. He knew what it cost her to speak those words: he doubted in all of Lisbon's life, even as a child, she'd ever made that request of anyone. Jane pulled his seat closer, turning her so they were facing one another. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and took her hands in his.

"Stay here tonight. The cot or the couch—it doesn't matter. Don't go back to that apartment alone. And in the morning… whatever happens, just trust me."

"You have a plan?" she asked, hope and a dash of skepticism in her voice. "What is it? Do you know where she is?"

"Patience, Teresa. We'll go over everything in the morning—I promise," he added hastily, when it appeared she was about to argue further. "Now, let me get you something to wear to bed, and let's try to get a few hours' rest."

She nodded silently. Her tears had stopped, but there was no anger yet. It would come by morning, he was sure; now, she was in shock. Again. He was grateful that she wasn't fighting him on staying, at least.

A moment later, he went and retrieved one of his clean dress shirts and brought it out. Lisbon was on the couch already, lying down beneath the blanket with her face pressed to the pillow. Her eyes were closed. Jane tiptoed past, but she reached out and caught his hand before he'd gotten by.

"Do you mind if I take the couch?" she asked.

"No. I told you—your choice." The couch smelled like him, he knew. It was so rare that she would allow him to comfort her in any way, he was grateful to provide at least that little bit of relief. He handed her his shirt. She smiled.

"I haven't worn one of these in awhile."

"No," he agreed, thinking yet again of Mexico; of Lisbon in one of his dress shirts, perched on the bathroom sink of a Mexican hotel room, her legs wrapped around him. "I told you before, though: you're welcome to them anytime. The only thing better than you in one of those sports jerseys and nothing else, is you in my dress shirt and nothing else."

She rolled her eyes, granting him a slip of a smile. They both fell silent, and he realized after a moment that she was studying him intently.

"They're real," he said, before she could ask. She looked at him uncertainly. "My feelings for you," he clarified. "I've gone on dates in the six months that we've been back… I've even taken a couple of women to bed and it was fine, being with them. This isn't going away, though: I'm not really that way, I suppose. Once I've found the woman for me, no one else will do."

She blinked at him, taken aback by his honesty. There was no drama in his tone; no ultimatum, no anger, no pain. But at this stage of the game, he felt it was important she know where he stood.

"Jane…"

"I know," he said quickly. "You're not looking for a deep emotional commitment right now. That's fine. But I think we should at least acknowledge this for what it is. I know you're attracted to me. I know you rely on me more than you allow yourself to rely on anyone—with the possible exception of Cho, of course. I know that late at night, when you allow yourself to go there, you wonder what it would be like: the two of us trying to make a go of it."

"If you know all this, why bother having a conversation at all?" Lisbon asked dryly. "Clearly, you don't need me for any of it."

He held her gaze. "On the contrary: I need you for all of it." He stood abruptly, sensing that they wouldn't make any progress tonight. "I'll get you some aspirin for that headache."

In the kitchen, he got a bottled water from the refrigerator and took some aspirin from the cupboard. The bathroom door opened and closed and opened again. A moment later, he felt a hand brush against his side. He turned to find Lisbon standing in front of him, wearing one of his favorite shirts. Well… if it hadn't been a favorite before, it certainly was now.

She stood on her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips. He held her there, his hand at the small of her back, for just a moment.

"Thank you," she said.

"I wish I could do more."

"I know," she agreed. "I couldn't take more, though. Right now… right now, all I can do is put one foot in front of the other and pray and hope to God Annie won't always hate me… and maybe I won't always hate myself."

He remembered the feeling all too well. "You won't. And Annie doesn't even hate you now… she's coming around. Just give her a little time." He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, dropping a final kiss at the top of her head.

"Did you really buy a house?" she asked, pulling back after a moment.

"I really did."

"And you're still telling me that house doesn't have anything to do with me or Annie?"

He grinned. "You really are full of yourself these days, Lisbon."

"You didn't answer the question," she said, gazing at him levelly.

He considered that. "Hmm. No, I suppose I didn't. Imagine that."

"You're such an ass."

"I am," he agreed. "But I'm an entertaining ass. Who cooks. And dances. There are worse asses to have in your life. And my hair apparently drives women wild."

She barely managed to suppress a smile, stifling a yawn as she shook her head at him. "Come on. I've had all the cooking and dancing I can handle for one night - time for bed. Whatever happens next, I have a feeling we're both gonna need some sleep to deal with it."

And with that, she tucked her hand in his and led them both back to the living room. He wasn't especially keen on camping out on a cot for the night, but he'd slept on worse. And the fact that Lisbon would be just a few feet away made it a much more desirable proposition than it might have been otherwise. All in all, this was a good start, for whatever might come next... Now, he just had to find a way to stop Ellie before she had an opportunity to act on whatever plan he was sure she was hatching. Lisbon may have survived losing her brother, but he knew she wouldn't fare so well if anything else happened to her family. And Jane knew for a fact that he wouldn't survive- and wouldn't want to- if anything happened to her.

No... It was time to find Ellie, and put an end to her madness one way or the other.

TBC

_I'll admit, writing the whole bit with this package Ellie put together completely skeezed me out. She's definitely one of the creepier villains I've ever written. I'd love to hear your thoughts! _


	6. Chapter Five

_Sorry for the delay in getting this up - life and fic so rarely mix these days! Before we dive into this next piece, I wanted to quickly address a concern some folks had with the last chapter: namely, Jane's reference to dating, and bedding women other than Lisbon. I promise, I'm not just going to randomly slide that in there and never mention it again; it's there for a reason. Jane had a reason for saying it, and we'll revisit that reason and the story behind it in future chapters. I swear, Jane hasn't turned into a floozy out to get his rocks off with the first girl he stumbles upon in a dark alley. There's a method to my madness. ;) And now... on with the show! _

CHAPTER FIVE

When Lisbon woke the next day, it was to somebody banging on the front door. Loudly. She opened her eyes, trying to get her bearings. Wherever she was, it smelled like Jane: tea and some subtle cologne she'd only ever smelled on him before. She thought it was cologne, anyway, but she conceded that she could be wrong. For all she knew, it was just Jane's natural scent: sugar and spice and everything nice.

It really wouldn't surprise her.

She realized she was in Jane's loft a split second before she heard the front door open. In his loft, on his couch, specifically.

"Where's Jane?" she heard Cho ask. There was no inflection, as usual, but she knew Cho well enough to hear the underlying urgency. She went into emergency mode immediately, mentally running through all the things that could be wrong. It wasn't a short list.

"Here!" Jane whisper-shouted from the kitchen. "Ssh—you'll wake Lisbon."

She cringed, already picturing the look in Cho's eye. She tried to pat her hair down so it wasn't standing straight on end, and sat up. Cho looked at her, a flicker of confusion on his face before his gaze returned to Jane.

"You said on the phone there was an emergency," Cho said. He was breathing hard, like he'd run up all three flights to Jane's place.

Jane was at the kitchen stove. Annie stood by the door, freshly showered and wearing jeans and an old Army sweatshirt.

"I did," Jane agreed. "Good morning, Lisbon," he said cheerfully, before he went back to talking to Cho. "Though I suppose your definition of emergency could vary from mine. It's a very subjective term. Would you like some breakfast?"

"No," Cho said flatly. He crossed his arms over his chest when he realized no one was actually in mortal danger. Except Jane, of course. "What's the emergency, Jane?"

Lisbon heard footsteps in the hallway. A second later, Rigsby nearly knocked Cho over as he rushed through the open door.

"I got here as fast as I could," he gasped. "Grace is on the way."

"Excellent," Jane said. For the first time, Lisbon noticed a pile of cardboard boxes scattered around the loft.

"Who wants breakfast?" Jane asked again, a cheerful little lilt in his voice. Lisbon looked in his direction as the smell of bacon wafted through the apartment. He, too, was freshly showered, wearing his standard three-piece suit. How the hell long had she been asleep?

"Jane, what's this about?" she asked. Rigsby's eyes flew to her, widening in surprise.

"Boss! Hey—I didn't know you'd be here." _Half-asleep, in Jane's shirt_, Lisbon added silently for him. Because she'd bet good money that was what he'd been thinking. Jane was a dead man.

"Yes, well," Jane said, clearing his throat. "I'm moving today," he announced. "I have to go pick up the moving van shortly, and I could use a hand."

"You called me at seven a.m. on a Saturday to help you move," Cho said. "That's not an emergency."

"Well," Jane argued. "It depends on your definition of emergency. It's _loosely _emergent."

"No," Cho said. "It's not. An emergency would be if someone accidentally shot you right now."

Jane held up his hands. "No need to get testy, Cho. I happen to know that since you and Elise broke up, you have no particularly pressing plans for your weekends. Why not spend it here, with us?"

"Helping you move? No."

"Jane, you can't just call people and trick them into helping you move," Lisbon said.

"You're right, of course," he agreed. Of course he agreed, the rat. "My apologies, everyone. But since you're here…"

"See you Monday," Cho said, cutting Jane off before he could finish. He turned and started for the door.

Rigsby just stood there, undecided. Cho hit the threshold just as Van Pelt came flying through, the two practically colliding. At least, Lisbon was pretty sure it was Van Pelt. It was hard to tell, though, because she'd never really seen Van Pelt in this much leather. She'd never really seen _anyone _in this much leather. Black, form-fitting leather, from head to foot. Rigsby wasn't even eating anything, and he still almost choked to death.

"What happened? Rigsby said he got a 911 text," Van Pelt said, a trace of panic in her eyes. Her gaze landed on Lisbon, still hiding out under the blankets in Jane's shirt and a pair of boy-short panties that she'd really never, ever planned on her team seeing. "Hey, boss… Did something happen?" Van Pelt asked.

"No, Grace—I'm fine," she said. Jane was practically beaming. Seriously—she was gonna shoot him, the second they were alone.

"So what's the problem then?" Van Pelt pressed. "Rigsby said…"

"Jane wants us to help him move," Cho said. The arrival of this new, leather-clad Van Pelt had apparently changed his mind about leaving just yet.

If looks could kill, Jane would have been dead on the floor after the glare Van Pelt shot his way.

"Seriously? You're such a jerk. I was on my way for my first motorcycle lesson."

"Motorcycle?" Rigsby asked, having just—finally—regained the power of speech. Though not totally, because his voice cracked on the word.

"Yeah," Van Pelt said, a trace of defensiveness to her tone. "I mean—I've always wanted to learn. This seemed like as good a time as any."

"Awesome pants," Annie said, eyeing Van Pelt's leather-clad… well, everything.

"Thanks," Grace said. "Truth is, they're not really that comfortable," she confessed.

"Well, they look cool," Annie said.

"Grace, if you help us today," Jane said, "I will personally rent two of the bossest hogs money can buy, and Rigsby can teach you how to ride."

"Wayne?" Van Pelt asked, looking at poor Rigs with disbelief. "He doesn't know how to ride."

"Oh, I'm afraid you're wrong there," Jane said. He looked at Rigsby, who was starting to show signs of life. "Isn't she, Rigsby? You may not have approved of your father, but my guess is he taught his only son how to ride before most boys had gotten rid of the training wheels on their bicycles."

Rigsby blushed, nodding awkwardly. "He—uh, yeah. I still ride sometimes. Not exactly the way Dad did, but I can hold my own."

"There you go," Jane said triumphantly. "So… that's two in. Cho, what will it take?"

"All I want is my Saturday," Cho said, arms still crossed over his chest.

Jane nodded understandingly. "Of course. No worries, then—off you go. We'll see you Monday. Now…" He clapped his hands together. "I need to go pick up the moving van. I made omelets for everyone, and Annie was kind enough to squeeze some fresh orange juice. And, of course, we have an entire pot of freshly brewed coffee with your name on it, Teresa."

Cho was still lingering in the doorway.

"Whaddya say, Kimball?" Jane pressed. "In or out?"

Cho rolled his eyes. "Fine. But only if Van Pelt ditches the leather."

"Why do I have to ditch the leather?" Van Pelt asked, somewhat hurt.

He just looked at her for a second, then glanced at Rigsby. Who still hadn't managed to stop looking at Van Pelt's cleavage, though he was clearly making one hell of an effort. "Because if you don't, Rigsby's gonna bust something before the day's out."

Rigsby started coughing again and turned beet red. Annie snickered.

Lisbon half-expected Jane to jump up and down, he was so damned pleased with himself. "Well, that's decided," he said, rubbing his hands together excitedly. "So, just come into the kitchen and feed yourselves, and we'll get started."

He came over and sat down beside Lisbon on the couch. She pulled her legs in tighter beneath her and the blanket up higher.

"What are you doing now?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said innocently. "But I was hoping to have some company while I pick up the moving van."

"I haven't even—" she blushed, cursing her Irish complexion. It gave everything away way too easily.

"Haven't even what, now?" Jane asked, poking out his ears for show. Thankfully, everyone had migrated to the kitchen, leaving her and Jane with relative privacy. As much as was possible in an apartment with no freaking walls, anyway.

"I'm sure no one will have a problem if you want to scurry into the bathroom, relieve your bladder, and freshen up before we leave. I'll fix you a plate to go."

"Jane—" she started. The look in his eye told her it was hopeless. Jane was like a friggin' two-year-old when he got like this. "Fine. Give me ten minutes."

"Of course," he agreed. "No rush. We have all day, after all."

Right.

* * *

When they were in Jane's car, Lisbon decided it was more than time to address this latest bizarre development. True, Jane tended to do things in a pretty unconventional way- he was the least conventional man she knew, as a matter of fact. And more than a little spastic, to boot. But this was beyond the pale even for him.

"What about your place in Malibu?" she asked, the second they were alone. Jane might have money stashed somewhere, but Lisbon couldn't imagine it would be enough to handle two California mortgages.

"I sold it," he said.

She stared at him, trying to wrap her head around that. He'd taken off his wedding ring; now he'd sold his house. He was _dating, _for crying out loud.

What the hell was happening?

"When did you sell it? Why didn't you say something?"

He shrugged. The cavalier attitude vanished for a second. She was left with the man behind the mask; the one few people ever really got to see.

"It was about a month ago now," he said.

As soon as he said it, she knew the exact day the sale must have gone through. It had been a Wednesday—she remembered because she'd had a budget meeting that day. It had been nearly five o'clock by the time she got back to her office, to find Jane reclining on her couch. Not unusual in and of itself, but he'd been quieter than usual.

_Can I take you out to dinner tonight? _he'd asked.

And despite how tenuous things were between them, she had said yes. Something about the look in his eye suggested it would be cruel to do otherwise. They were, after all, still friends. Good friends. Best friends, if she was being honest.

He'd been quiet through dinner. When he asked if she would mind calling it a night early, she'd known immediately that something must really be wrong. He had taken off his wedding ring months ago, but she caught him worrying at his ring finger that night—like it was still there. Like he still felt the power of that gold band.

When they said goodnight, he'd hugged her goodbye—tightly, his arms wrapped around her like he was clinging to a life preserver. _Thank you, Lisbon, _he'd whispered in her ear.

_Are you all right? _she'd asked. He nodded when they parted, but he seemed so... _sad, _when he'd walked away_. _

Now, a month later, Jane nodded again, keeping his eyes on the road. Lisbon reached for his hand, laying hers over his fine, strong fingers.

"You could have told me, Jane."

"I didn't need to tell you," he returned. He was still serious, but the sadness wasn't quite as profound as she'd expected. He slid his hand along hers, their fingers intertwined, and it sent a buzzing jolt of electricity through Lisbon's blood. "That's what always impresses me about you, Lisbon—your empathy. You sensed something without me having to go into all the awful, maudlin details. And the night passed."

"Well… sometimes maybe it's okay to go into the maudlin details," she muttered, oddly disgruntled. "Maybe it's okay hearing those details once in awhile. I can handle it, you know."

He glanced at her, honestly surprised. "You _want me _to get maudlin with you? Is that what you're saying, my dear?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't know what I'm saying. I just know that you've been there for me lately. If you need somebody, I'd like to… I don't know," she trailed off lamely. "I can listen as well as anybody, Jane."

"All right, then," he said, with a resolute set to his jaw. "The next time I'm feeling particularly bereft, you're the first person I'll call."

He was only half-teasing, she could tell. When she tried to pull her hand back, Jane wouldn't let go.

"That's a two-way street, though," he said. "If you ever need to talk. Or… whatever. I'm happy to lend an ear."

"I know." She didn't know what else to say beyond that. She _did _know—he'd been making it clear for awhile now that he was here for her, if she wanted him. She had no idea how long that would last, but, for now, it was both reassuring and strangely terrifying to know he was just… there. Waiting. They fell silent. Finally, she sighed.

"I've never been good at… talking." Jane nodded, but he didn't say anything—waiting for her to continue. "I do trust you, though. I just… I don't know what I'm feeling. And I don't really…" Her hand tightened around his, her pulse quickening. Her lips went dry; she felt breathless, all of a sudden. Jane glanced at her again, his hand moving along hers.

"You don't have to talk, Teresa," he said quietly. "No one's pressing you into anything. You can talk to me, if you choose. But it's always _your _choice. All of this is your choice. I'm not going anywhere."

She nodded, mute. Her heart slowed. Her breathing eased. That knot in her chest loosened.

God, she was a mess.

* * *

Jane's new house had a fenced yard, with space for a garden out back. Lisbon could only imagine what his place in Malibu had gone for—so of course he could afford whatever he wanted in Sacramento. But she was relieved to find that this house was nice without being completely over the top; comfortable. There were three bedrooms and two and a half baths. A fully finished basement. The kitchen didn't make much difference to her, of course, but Jane kept showing her new details.

"A gas range, Lisbon. _Gas_. And a double oven—which comes in handy when you're entertaining, believe me."

"I'll take your word for it," she replied dryly.

Not for the first time, she wondered what Jane's life must have been like with Angela. She imagined they must have had a lot of parties. For some reason, she kept picturing that ball scene in _The Sound of Music, _when Julie Andrews brought the kids down to sing goodnight. She could imagine Patrick Jane—younger, more buoyant, unaware of just how cruel life could be—coaching little Charlotte on some silly song to entertain the crowd. The thought made her heart clench.

"Lisbon?" Jane prompted. She looked up, aware that she'd gotten lost again. The moving van was in the driveway. Rigsby and Van Pelt were on their way back, she knew. Annie seemed to be staking a claim on the finished basement, while Jane gave Lisbon the grand tour. "Are you still in there?"

"Yeah… sorry. It's nice, Jane."

"You don't like it." He looked almost comically disappointed. It was usually hard to tell when he was kidding and when he wasn't, but this time she knew it wasn't an act.

"I do," she insisted. The truth was, she _did _like it. The walls were painted in soft, soothing tones; there were hardwood floors and crown molding and little built-ins that gave the place character. Everywhere she turned, there were little nooks to get lost in: window seats and reading corners, all with tons of light streaming in. "It's very… homey."

The problem was, it was a little too homey. In fact, Lisbon kept forgetting this wasn't _her _home.

Jane studied her, trying to find the lie. "Well… you could be a little more enthusiastic," he pointed out. "I don't need you to do a dance—heaven forbid. But you _could_ make an effort not to look like I'm dragging you through a tour of Alcatraz."

"I like it, Jane," she repeated. "It's… great," she finally settled on. "I can definitely see you in a place like this."

He didn't say anything to that. It looked like he wanted to; it looked for all the world like he had a question on the tip of his tongue, but he held back. Lisbon found herself more unsettled by the minute.

At eight o'clock that night, Jane and Lisbon made the final trip to his loft. Annie was picking up takeout with Rigsby and Van Pelt, while Cho stayed behind, assembling a new bed and a sound system for the basement- _Annie's_ basement, as it turned out. Lisbon gave up arguing about any of it.

She looked around the empty apartment, feeling strangely… sad. Like something was ending, just when she'd been getting used to it. Her home wasn't her home anymore, and somehow lately the office was feeling less and less… safe. But Jane's loft had felt safe.

"The new house will be just as much a home as this was," Jane said, reading her mind—as usual. "You needn't be sad about it."

"I'm not," she said, too quickly. He looked at her knowingly. "All right… fine. Maybe I'm a little sad. I liked this place. I don't know why you had to freak out and buy a house all of a sudden."

"I'm a man who likes roots," he said simply. "I suppose it has to do with the way I grew up—roaming from town to town, always looking for a new mark. Never _really _settled. When Angie and I bought the house in Malibu, it felt like something… momentous, had happened. We had a home. Four walls and a roof, all our own. And regardless of what else might be happening, or how bad it might get, we could always retreat to that home. Hide behind those four walls."

He laughed—it was stilted, though, darkness clouding his eyes. "Of course, that sense of safety turned out to be a farce. But the idea still holds."

"We lived in the same house from the time I was three," Lisbon said. "Right up until I had to sell the place after my dad died. I guess I never really thought about what it would be like to just… not have that."

"And so consequently, roots are not your favorite thing," Jane interpreted. "Four walls and a roof mean you're trapped."

"I think that's the way it used to feel."

"And now?" he asked, looking honestly curious.

She shrugged. "I don't know anymore. Now… I wouldn't mind belonging somewhere. Feeling like there was some kind of refuge after a long day. I just never thought much about it before, I guess."

He was watching her again—studying her, like he was trying to figure her out. She shifted uncomfortably.

"Anyway, we're talking about your life, Jane, not mine. If you were ready to ditch this place, that's your business. I'm not paying the mortgage."

She'd meant to lighten things up, but he was still studying her with a definite frown. Jane wasn't happy.

"If I'd known you were so attached to this apartment…"

"I'm _not _attached to this apartment. God, Jane. All I said was, I'll miss it. The new place is great. I bet you'll be really happy there."

"Would you stop saying it like that?" The tone in his voice made her look up. He sounded… pissed. Or at the very least honestly annoyed.

"Stop saying it like what?"

" '_You_'_ll _be happy there.' 'It really fits _you.'"_

"You're the one who bought the place. What do you want me to say—it really fits _Rigsby_?"

The frown grew. "I want _you _to like it. I want it to fit _you. _For _you _to feel at home there."

She looked at him sharply. There was a buzzing in her ears, like someone was cutting wood inside her damn head.

"I didn't _ask _you to buy a house, Jane. I told you: I don't even know what I'm doing. I don't know where I'm going next. What will happen down the road."

"I didn't buy the house _for you_, you damnable woman. But I still want you to like it. I want you to…" he stopped, looking lost. He paced the empty loft, getting more and more agitated by the second. Whatever was bothering him, it looked like it was about to eat him alive.

"Just spit it out, Jane," she finally prompted. She wasn't sure how much she actually wanted to hear any of this, but she had the uneasy feeling that if Jane didn't get it out, he was about to explode.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and wiped his palms on his pants. When he met her gaze again, he was back in control.

"I just want you to feel at home, wherever I am," he said calmly. "That's all."

It wasn't all by a long shot, she could tell. But she wasn't anymore anxious to pursue it than he was anxious to talk about it, so she let it go.

"I get it," she said. "As much as that's possible, I guess, where I'm concerned… I do, Jane."

He grinned, but she could tell it took some effort. They might be letting things go for now, but she had a feeling this conversation was hardly over. "Excellent. That's all I'm asking. Then let's blow this proverbial popsicle stand, and go home."

As they reached the door, she looked back over her shoulder one last time. Though Jane had only lived here for a few months, the memories she had of the loft were good ones, for the most part. No matter what he said or how much he tried to make light of it, she couldn't deny the facts: she _would_ miss this place.

* * *

"There's a spare room," Jane said for the sixteenth time. It was eleven o'clock. The rest of the team had gone home around nine, and they'd been having this conversation ever since. "Why don't you just stay the night? You'd have an entire bedroom to yourself. And bath."

"I have an entire _apartment _to myself," she pointed out. Also for the sixteenth time. "I'm fine, Jane. If Annie gives you any trouble tomorrow, just give me a call. Otherwise, I'll see you Monday."

He nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But you know where I am if you need anything. If you get restless, you can always stop in."

"Thank you," she said earnestly, trying to convey how much his concern actually meant. Just because she was too screwed up to accept his help didn't mean she didn't appreciate him trying. "But I'll be okay."

Yeah, right.

She drove back to her apartment. As soon as she reached the door, her heart started to race again. Her hands shook as she slipped the key into the lock. Her stomach was tight. It didn't matter that there hadn't been a single incident since the night Tommy was taken—this was still her reaction every single freaking time she came home. She could still hear his screams; feel the blow that knocked her unconscious and the cool steel that sliced her cheek open.

She pushed the door open.

Turned on the light.

She was alone.

"Big surprise there, Teresa," she muttered to herself. "What'd you think you were gonna find?"

Nobody answered. Because, again… she was alone. Tommy used to make fun of her for talking to herself, even when they were kids. _Somebody's gonna think you have that multiple personality thing. _And she'd answer the same way, every time: _If I wanna have an intelligent conversation, who else am I gonna talk to in this place? _And he'd pretend to be annoyed, but it was all just a game—just the two of them following another script they'd been following for as far back as she could remember.

She went to the cupboard, took out the whiskey, and poured herself a shot. Stared at it. Poured it down the sink—the same way she did every night. The pain was bad, but she'd been there when her father got lost in his grief: there was no way she was putting anyone through that crap. If she was gonna suffer, she was damn well gonna suffer sober.

She went to the bathroom and changed into sweats and a t-shirt, thinking the whole time about curling up on Jane's couch the night before. The feel and the smell and the…safety, of sleeping in his shirt, surrounded by Jane smells and Jane sounds. It had been months since she'd slept that well.

"You're not going over there again," she said aloud.

Not that Jane would mind. In fact, she was pretty sure it was what he wanted. Well, maybe that was being presumptuous. She _thought _that was what he wanted, but sometimes it was hard to read Jane. The way he'd been acting lately, though, it would be so easy to just show up there. Let him take care of things, be sweet and light and… Jane.

There was too much danger in that kind of thing, though—it was a bad road to go down. A person starts relying on others too much and, _bam, _the next thing you know, the universe is upside down, they're gone, and you're left to pick up the pieces all over again. She was getting to old for that crap. Jane had said once, _Anybody that gets close to me, bad things happen to them._

Well, he wasn't the only one.

She'd spent a long time avoiding meaningful attachments, for exactly that reason. Now wasn't the time to start doing things differently.

Lisbon flipped channels until she found a Cosby Show marathon. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and let her eyes drift shut. Let her mind wander. It always came back around to the same thing, though: Ellie Jennings. Where was she now? Was she with Bertram? Had she killed anyone else? Tortured them? So far, there'd been a couple of reported sightings that went nowhere, but otherwise Ellie was officially, completely in the wind. No sign of her or Gale Bertram, anywhere.

They were out there, though.

She flipped to the news. There was a breaking story: a jewel heist in Madrid; two guards dead, their throats slit; the store vandalized. She stared at the scene for a minute. Something unsettled her about the graffiti spray painted on the walls.

"Earlier this week," a pretty foreign correspondent reported, "a similar robbery took place in Istanbul. Police have stipulated that they suspect the same culprits behind that crime and two others that have taken place over the past month. A source inside Interpol has stated the violence of the crimes is escalating at an alarming rate. There are no firm suspects as yet."

A woman Lisbon assumed was the wife of one of the security guards came on next, crying. Lisbon flipped back to the Cosby Show.

After a couple of minutes watching Theo and Cockroach do some kind of intricate eighties rap about Julius Caesar, Lisbon sat up again. She sighed, scrubbing her hand over her face as her gaze wandered back to the kitchen, and the whiskey bottle still sitting on the sideboard.

How many times had she vowed she wouldn't go down the same road her father had? She knew she had the potential: most of the guys in the Academy outweighed her by a hundred pounds, and she'd still been able to drink them under the table. Never got sick. Never even felt drunk—not really, anyway. So, what would it matter if she had a couple belts now? It's not like she was on duty. She wasn't driving anywhere. Didn't have anyone relying on her.

She got up and returned to the sink. Poured another shot. She held it up, staring at the dark liquid.

_You and your brothers drove me to this. God drove me to this, when he took your mom away from us. I got nothin' left, Reese. _

She remembered her father sobbing, completely broken. When she'd been little, she'd felt bad for him. For years, she pitied him. But by the time sixteen rolled around, she'd spent too much time hiding bruises; shielding her brothers from her father's out-of-control rages; lying awake at night, every muscle in her body tensed, waiting for him to come through the front door. By the time her father finally pulled the trigger, Lisbon couldn't remember why she'd ever loved him. Or if she had, even.

She stared at the shot of whiskey again. Her eyes burned. She was so damn tired.

This time, she didn't stop with the shot of whiskey down the drain; she poured the whole damn fifth down there.

Her father had gotten lost in his grief; he'd let it consume him. Jane had done the same thing, for how many years?

_The difference is, Jane's pulling himself back together, _a little voice whispered in her ear. _Jane's not your father. He did what had to be done, after something unimaginable happened to him. Way worse than just losing Mom—he had everything taken from him. And he's changed because of it. Become a better person. He's making a difference. _

She went to the cupboard, pulled down another fifth of whiskey and poured that one down the sink, too. Then, she poured herself a glass of water and went back to the couch. Pulled the blanket up to her chin again.

She didn't need someone else to help her through this. Teresa Lisbon had _never _needed anyone. She'd dump the whiskey, slay the dragons, ride out the dreams. She didn't need Patrick Jane to help her with any of it.

She was Teresa Lisbon, dammit.

She could do this alone.

* * *

She was back in Mexico. Back in Mexico, with a fire raging close enough to scorch and the sun beating down and, somewhere through the flames, Tommy's face. His eyes closed. He was young—just a baby, practically. _Reese! Reesey. You said you'd come. _Her father was running through the fire, and how many times had she had this dream? As a kid, it was always the same: they were trapped in a burning building, and their father was coming for them. He plowed through the flames, trying to reach them. And he was so close she could feel him, knew that if she could just make him hear her, then he would save them. Their father, the hero… He would get to them in time.

But instead, her father's eyes always locked on hers through the flames, and in an instant his face changed. From grief to fury, in the space of a breath.

He turned his back.

He walked away.

Closed the door, and locked them inside. He left his kids to burn.

This time, though, it was different. Because this time in the dream, her father got to her. He took her hand. Tommy screamed louder. _We have to get him, _Lisbon said. _I have to save him. We can't leave him. _Her father looked at her. His eyes were dark—always so dark. _You and me are made from the same cloth, Reese. We can't save anybody, _he said to her. The flames were burning her now—she could feel the heat, making her skin bubble and her breath come in sharp gasps. _Reesey! _Tommy cried. _You said you'd come. You said all I had to do was ask. You'd always be there. _

"Teresa," a voice called to her. She looked at her father, but she knew it wasn't his voice. He never called her that. His voice was never that kind.

"It's a dream, Teresa—you're all right."

She jerked awake, her heart hammering in her chest. Jane crouched beside her, his hand in her hair.

The TV was off. Her clothes were damp with sweat; her t-shirt clung to her, twisted around her body. She was shaking. Nauseous. She scrambled to a sitting position, pulling the blanket with her.

"You're all right," Jane said again, softer once he realized she was awake. He stayed where he was, watching her curiously.

She pushed the hair from her eyes, her hand shaking so hard she could barely make it work. Her heart was hammering. Bile rose in her throat.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, when she finally found her voice. "Where's Annie?"

"She's at home," he said. "I called Rachel and asked her to come stay."

"In the middle of the night?" Lisbon demanded. "Are you freakin' kidding me? What the hell, Jane?"

He sat down beside her without waiting for an invitation. She was too cold and too hot at the same time. If he came any closer, she was sure she'd be sick. But because it was Jane, and Jane never really worried about what _other people _wanted, he reached out and took her hand. She started to pull away, but he held fast.

His skin was cool, his grip strong. Reassuring. He turned so he could face her on the couch, pulling one leg up so he was sitting sideways. His eyes were so blue in this light—like the ocean. Cool and clear.

"Breathe," he said quietly. "In and out. Everything is still. Everything is calm. You're all right."

The nausea faded, just a little. She closed her eyes. A moment later, she felt his hand in her hair again, gently pushing a strand back from her face. When she looked at him again, he was closer than he had been.

"Why are you here?" she asked, quieter now.

"I decided neither one of us would last if I have to wait for you to come to your senses," he said. "I bought a house with two spare bedrooms. You're living in the apartment where you were brutally attacked, and your brother was kidnapped before subsequently being tortured and killed. Your niece is staying with _me_—a virtual stranger—because she can't bear to be here."

"She told you that?" Lisbon asked. The nausea returned.

"Among other things. And so I decided I would come here, and I would bodily drag you back to my new house, if that's what it took. Though I sincerely hope it doesn't, as we both know you can beat me senseless anytime you choose."

"I don't need you to save me."

"I will always save you, Lisbon," he said softly, echoing words he'd said to her before. "Whether you like it or not."

She rolled her eyes, trying to get some kind of hold on herself again. "So… what? You just want me to pack up and leave now, in the middle of the night?"

"Unless you'd rather go back to sleep now."

She thought of Tommy's little kid voice; the feel of the flames around her. Her father, dragging her away.

"No," she said dryly. "I think I'm done sleeping for awhile."

"Excellent. That settles it, then."

"No, it doesn't settle it. Dammit, Jane-"

"Would you stop fighting me for two seconds and look at yourself, woman?" Every ounce of that easy, cavalier Patrick Jane charm vanished. He stood and glared at her, his voice tight. He wasn't yelling, exactly, but he was pretty damned close. "You don't eat. You don't sleep. You poured two bottles of whiskey down the sink tonight in a desperate attempt not to lose yourself at the bottom of a bottle the way your father did after your mother's death. But regardless of whether or not you're doing it through drink, you are still destroying yourself for something you had no control over."

She was on her feet at that, more than matching Jane's anger. "But I should've had control- don't you get it? This is what I _do, _dammit! I save people. I protect them from the bad guys of the world." She walked away, her body humming with fury and fear and something deep and desperate and gnawing she didn't think she'd ever escape. The dreams came back to her suddenly, the memory so real she could barely see straight. And she knew she should shut the hell up, because she _never _talked about this crap... but this time she couldn't stop.

"I promised him that I'd take care of him, Jane. That was supposed to be my job. Our father would come home blitzed out of his mind, and Tommy would get this look on his face... like he was so scared he could barely breathe, you know? And I'd grab him by the shoulders and look him in the eye, and I'd say, 'Nobody's gonna hurt you- I'll never let anybody hurt you.' And I'd lock the bedroom door so my brothers couldn't get out and our dad couldn't get in, and... I'd handle it."

"You mean you'd _take it,_" Jane corrected her. His voice had softened, the fight gone, but Lisbon couldn't bear to turn around and face him. "Your father would beat the living tar out of you, while your brothers listened from a locked room. You protected them in ways a young girl should never have to protect anyone- I know that. But you can't do it anymore, Lisbon. Regardless of how appealing it might be to lock Annie or me or your brothers in a room somewhere sometimes, it's not an option. Well," he amended with a slight, pained smile. "Not a _reasonable _option, at any rate." He touched her shoulder. She shied away, remembering another time; Jane's soft voice, assuring her that _everything will be all right_.

"Your niece needs you, Teresa. The team needs you. Hell, _I _need you- far more than I care to admit." She faced him head on, brushing the tears from her eyes roughly. "Please... come stay with me. Just for awhile. It'll be fun."

She scoffed, wound so tight she thought she'd snap. "Yeah. I bet."

He took a step closer. This time when Jane touched her, she didn't pull back. Instead, she let him pull her in, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "You'll never have to cook again," he whispered in her ear.

She choked on a kind of half-laugh, half-sob, burying her head in his shoulder while she tried to keep that last thread of control she had left from fraying completely. Seconds passed. She became aware, gradually, of what it was like to be held by Patrick Jane: his warmth, his unexpected strength, the steady beat of his heart. His lips found her forehead, like he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Please, Teresa," he said again. She nodded wordlessly, still hanging onto him.

"Okay," she agreed. God, what the hell was she doing? Jane pulled back, holding tight to her shoulders while he looked at her from an arm's length away. He was smiling, but there was a shine to his eyes she hadn't noticed before. She glared at him. "But this is a _temporary _solution. Just until I figure out my next move."

"Naturally."

"And you don't have to cook for me."

"If you think I'm letting you anywhere near my new kitchen, you're worse off than I thought." The smile turned to a wolfish grin. "Though I might be persuaded to let you help clean up if you promise to wear my shirts while you're doing it."

She swatted his arm. Her heartbeat started to ease. She was Teresa Lisbon, true... But maybe this once, it would be all right if she didn't make it through _everything _on her own.

**TBC**

_PHEW! Okay, I know there's been a lot of angst and not a ton of plot so far, but I promise that we're making progress. Next chapter finds us with more of the case to work with, homemaking with Annie and Teresa (hint: it's not pretty), and Ellie well and truly inserts herself into the mix. In the meantime, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, and the story so far. Oh, and a question: There will actually be some sexy tiemz in the not-so-distant future in this fic, and I'm curious as to your stance on that. I'm not much for pornographic detail, but I do like a tastefully sensual love scene here and there to spice things up. What say you? __Do you prefer the slow fade as the bedroom door closes, or would you rather stay in the room when things get interesting? _


	7. Chapter Six

_**Sorry for the lengthy wait on this chapter - clearly, that whole two-chapters-per-week plan isn't going to pan out. I have part of the next chapter written, and will try to get the rest done in a more timely fashion this time around, however. Thank you so, so much to everyone who has left such kind reviews for this fic; I apologize for not getting back to more of you individually, but rest assured: those reviews really do mean the world. And it appears from the feedback I got that no one is opposed to a good, tasteful love scene, so you can definitely expect that in the next couple of chapters. And now, without further ado... Let's dig into the next chapter! **_

CHAPTER SIX

Lisbon fell asleep in the car on the way back to the house. It was only a twenty minute ride, but she was out within five minutes of leaving her apartment. If Jane had needed proof that she was exhausted, that was certainly sufficient.

He should have been more insistent from the start, he realized. How long had it been like this for her? How long had she been sleeping on the sofa, plagued by nightmares and the absolute, unerring certainty that her brother's death was her fault?

Well, he was damned well going to do something about it now. She could threaten him all she wanted, but when things were at the very worst for him, Lisbon had never abandoned him. He could at least do the same for her.

When they reached the house—_his _house, something that still felt strange to say—he leaned over and shook Lisbon.

"Teresa," he said. She started, her eyes opening blearily. "We're home. I could carry you in if you like."

"Not if you want to live to see sunrise you couldn't. I'm tired, Jane, not crippled."

"Just trying to help, dear," he said, squelching a grin. At least her temper was still intact. He got out, allowing Lisbon to do things at her own pace.

When he went inside, Rachel was dozing in an easy chair in his living room. Jane wasn't especially surprised to find that she wasn't alone: Annie was curled up on the sofa, sound asleep. The old woman woke when Jane opened the front door, and quickly put her index finger to her lips.

"Ssh—she just got back to sleep. I think maybe putting her in the basement was a little ambitious."

Jane nodded. "It was what she wanted," he whispered. "And it's pointless arguing with these Lisbon women."

Rachel smiled. She looked at the door curiously, noting that Jane was alone. "Speaking of which…"

"She'll be right in—but she's a bit prickly at the moment."

Rachel stood, stretching wearily. "Then I best be on my way."

"Thank you for coming out," Jane said. "I know I wasn't gone long, but I didn't want to risk Annie waking alone; she's been having trouble with nightmares. Sorry to have inconvenienced you."

"Oh, hush, Patrick," Rachel said, waving him off. "First off, you know perfectly well that you're not the least bit sorry. And secondly—I'm an old woman. I can spare a few hours' sleep now and again, particularly for a worthy cause. I'm glad you called."

Lisbon came in then, with her overnight bag in hand and an unmistakably sheepish expression on her face. With the flush climbing her cheeks, you would have thought she was doing something untoward.

"Looks like everyone's present and accounted for," Rachel whispered cheerfully. "So I'll just see myself out. Sleep well."

Lisbon nodded, catching sight of Annie on the couch. The girl stretched, her eyelids fluttering as she woke and looked around.

"You got her to come back?" she asked when her eyes found Jane.

"I did. But _you _are supposed to be sleeping," Jane said.

"The basement was lame. I decided I wanted to try out the couch tonight," she said, all false bravado. She sat up, pulling the blanket with her. "Rachel said it was okay."

"Rachel's not in charge of you," Lisbon said. "We are. You can't sleep on the couch—but maybe tonight you could try one of the bedrooms upstairs." She hesitated. "I'd feel better if you were closer; I know it's a pain."

Jane hid a smile, silently pleased at Lisbon's effort to save her niece's pride by making it seem more about her fears rather than the teenager's.

"I guess that'd be fine," Annie grumbled, purely for effect. "It's a good thing Patrick decided to get all those beds set up right off the bat. Whenever me and Dad moved anywhere, it took us, like, months to unpack."

Lisbon looked at Jane knowingly, an eyebrow arched. "Expecting company, were you?"

He shrugged. "Not at all, Lisbon. I don't like feeling unsettled, that's all. I can hardly feel as though I've moved in properly when I have a handful of bedrooms with unmade beds, can I?"

"Right," Lisbon said. Her tone suggested she didn't believe him for a moment.

* * *

Within twenty minutes, Annie was settled in one of the three bedrooms upstairs, and Jane and Lisbon stood together in the second floor hallway. Jane nodded toward the far end of the hall. "I've already settled in that room- but this one is nice, I think you'll like it." He pushed the door open. "You'll have your own bathroom."

"Jane, that's the master bedroom."

He shrugged. "I prefer the view of the river that I get with the other room. And I like being a bit farther from the noise of street traffic."

"Fine," she said. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing, though."

He grinned inwardly. That was an easy victory, at least. "Excellent. Then it's all settled."

He moved out of the way to allow her entrance to her new bedroom. She paused at the door. Jane hesitated, uncertain of what his next move should be. He took a breath and stepped into the room, heading for the bathroom while he attempted to recover his equilibrium. _Go to bed, _he told himself silently. _Leave the room now; give her space. _

"This is the bathroom," he said instead.

"Yeah, Jane… I figured that one out. I _am _a detective, you know. The toilet and the shower were a dead giveaway."

"There are fresh towels—not many, of course. If you need more…"

"I'm not that big," she said. She looked amused. "I only need one."

"Of course," Jane agreed. He stood awkwardly at the door to the bathroom. _Go to bed, you idiot, _he told himself silently, unaccustomed to feeling so off balance. "If you need anything…" he began.

"You'll be down the hall?" She was all but laughing at him now. He found it didn't bother him that much, though; if his being off balance made her smile, he would have to do it more often. Besides, he had a new house. A new house, and Lisbon was living in it. Well… Lisbon was _staying _in it. Things had certainly been worse.

"Exactly," he agreed, beginning to relax. "Extra blankets; a glass of water; anything at all. I'm happy to serve."

She took a step closer, turned him around, and bodily pushed him toward the door. "I'll be fine, Jane."

He turned at the door, just before she propelled him back out into the hallway of his new house. The laughter faded from her eyes, something deeper replacing it. Something unmistakably tender. She lowered her eyes, a blush climbing her cheeks.

"Thanks, Jane. You didn't have to do this…"

"I know that. I _wanted _to do it."

She nodded, as though she was just beginning to realize that he might actually be telling the truth on that particular subject. Unexpectedly, she lay her palm against the front of his t-shirt, leaned up, and quickly kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you, Patrick," she said again, more quietly this time.

"My pleasure, Teresa," he said, just as quietly. "I'll see you in the morning."

He closed the door and walked down the hallway, to his new bedroom. In his new house. In which Lisbon and her niece were now living, with him.

All things considered, it hadn't been a bad Saturday at all.

* * *

The next day dawned cold and rainy in Sacramento. Teresa woke while Jane was making breakfast, and came down with what seemed to Jane an endless list of things she simply _had _to do.

"I'm not giving you my keys," he announced, after Lisbon had showered (_without_ eating any of the breakfast he'd prepared) and was headed for his front door.

"I never asked for your keys," Lisbon said. Annie looked on curiously from the kitchen table, where she appeared to be reading a textbook about California police protocol. Jane had never met two women less capable of relaxing in his life. "I can call a cab, Jane. I just need to get back to my place to pick up my car."

"And then what are you planning on doing?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I figured I might head to the office to get some paperwork done."

He sighed wearily. "It's Sunday, Lisbon. You got virtually no sleep last night—and neither did I. And neither did Annie, for that matter."

"I'm fine," Annie said, raising her head from her book. "I don't need much sleep, anyway. I thought maybe we could hit the gym."

The gym. On a Sunday, for crying out loud. Jane shook his head. "Is the concept of a day of rest completely lost on you two? It's raining. We have a whole house to ourselves; surely we can find something appropriately unproductive to do with our time."

Annie closed her textbook and looked up, clearly intrigued. "Like what?"

"I don't know," Jane said. "Cards. Movies. Napping. Junk food. Anything with little to no socially redeemable value."

Lisbon looked ready to revolt, but she stopped when she realized just how invested Annie had become in the scheme. That, Jane knew, was his trump card: whatever was best for Annie, Lisbon would by default end up doing. If it just so happened that what was best for Annie also happened to be best for Auntie Reese... well, all the better.

"Do you have a TV?" Annie asked.

Jane frowned. "I haven't set up cable or anything. But I have a television. And I get Netflix, so I can watch my nature shows. And they have an excellent selection of old movies."

Annie merely scoffed. "Yeah, we're definitely not doing an old movie crapfest. I've got my Wii with me—I can set it up so we can stream Netflix to the TV. You haven't seen the last season of TVD, have you?" she asked Lisbon.

"What's TVD?" Jane asked. It was clear his control of this situation was diminishing rapidly.

"The Vampire Diaries," Teresa and Annie said at the same time. Despite herself, he could tell Teresa was intrigued.

"Vampire Diaries," Jane repeated. "What is that? As in, moments from Nosferatu's secret journal?"

"Something like that," Teresa said. She bit her lip, looking sorely tempted. Her eyes drifted to the refrigerator. "Got any ice cream?"

He grinned. "You do whatever technical wizardry's required for this fanged marathon; I'll take care of the snacks."

* * *

"I just don't understand how no one notices that all these people are being killed in back alleys in what is presumably a small town," Jane said. They were six hours into The Vampire Diaries. Honestly, he was starting to get a little worried. How could anyone watch this much television in one go? The Lisbon twins, however, seemed not to share his concerns. "And I know I never went to high school, but do they really have that many dances? Formals and semi-formals and costume balls… it's no wonder the youth of America can't read or subtract properly. They're too busy dancing."

"You have to suspend disbelief, Jane," Teresa said sourly. "I know that's hard for you, but give me a break."

"It just seems a little silly," Jane said. "And anyway, don't think for one moment I believe either of you are watching this for the plot."

Annie looked at him innocently. "What are you talking about? _Of course _we're watching it for the plot. Why else would we be watching?"

"Then it's not for the Gaelic-looking fellow with the quippy one-liners and the unhealthy habit of devouring his girlfriends?"

Annie looked at Teresa, waiting for a translation.

"He means Damon," Lisbon said.

"Precisely," Jane agreed with a nod.

"_I_ might watch for Damon," Annie said, "but Aunt Reese is all about Stefan. Right?"

"Liar liar," Jane said when Lisbon started to agree. "Your aunt may pretend she's thoroughly evolved, but she still prefers the bad boys. Why else would she be here with me, instead of out with the very eligible Detective Montrose?"

"Because Montrose is a tool?" Annie asked. "Anyway, since when are _you _a bad boy, Patrick? You drink tea and wear suits and listen to classical music all the time. You can't even shoot a gun. You're a little prissy to be a bad boy. No offense."

His eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. Patrick Jane was _not _prissy. "Just because I don't lock and load everywhere I go doesn't mean I _can't _shoot a gun. And what, exactly, is wrong with tea and suits and classical music, anyway? I am too a bad boy," he said, honestly offended. "Lisbon, tell her how bad I am."

"He's the worst," Lisbon said dryly. Annie grinned.

"A lot of help you are. You can forget all about me making dinner, if that's your attitude."

"That sulk doesn't exactly sell your argument," Lisbon pointed out, just barely managing not to grin. "But if it makes you feel any better, I can attest firsthand to what a pain in the butt you are and just how many cops, lawyers, judges, politicians, agents, security guards, and random family members would agree that you are anything but a nice guy."

"Thank you," he said, slightly mollified. He stood, stretched out the kinks in his back, and nodded toward the kitchen. "And now, because in addition to being a bad boy, I also happen to be a gentleman, I'll go start dinner while you two ogle the vampire in peace." As he was walking away, he huffed under his breath, "Prissy. I'll show you prissy." Once they thought he was out of earshot, however, his smile returned at the sound of the Lisbons' laughter behind him.

Yes, indeed. The weekend had been more successful than he'd ever dared hope.

If only it could have ended there.

* * *

It was dark by the time Jane took Lisbon back to her apartment to pick up her car and a few of her things. Annie had insisted on staying behind, saying she wasn't a baby and didn't appreciate being treated like one—she was more than capable of being alone for a couple of hours. Jane suspected this was more about her giving he and Lisbon some time alone than anything else; something he very much appreciated. It was nice to know someone was in his corner in all this.

They drove in companionable silence until they reached Lisbon's apartment. Despite Lisbon's insistence that she could go in alone, he trailed along behind her. He noted the faint tremble in her hands as she was unlocking the front door, but remained quiet—remembering all too well experiencing that same sensation when he used to return to the bedroom in Malibu where Red John had slain his wife and daughter.

He rested a hand at the small of her back wordlessly. She unlocked the door after a brief struggle, and they stepped inside.

Instantly, Jane felt a chill. Not an emotional chill, however—this was a genuine, physical chill. Lisbon felt it, too; she looked at him in alarm before she stalked across the apartment and closed the living room window, now standing wide open.

"Did you…?" Jane asked.

"Of course not," she snapped. "I know better than that."

Of course she did.

Jane silently cataloged the room as Lisbon did the same, but he could find nothing out of place. He walked to the stairs, a nameless dread already forming at the back of his throat and the pit of his stomach. Lisbon caught the look on his face.

"What?" she asked.

He nodded toward the stairs, his stomach clenched. A sound drifted down from the second floor. He froze.

"Jane?" Lisbon asked. She drew her gun at sight of the crimson droplets on her carpeted stairway. The sound from above transformed into voices: a child's laughter that struck Jane like a bolt of lightning. He couldn't move.

Lisbon took the first few steps. "Call the team," she ordered Jane. The terse command made him feel better; she was in control. He knew he should be stronger about this—he should protect her, keep her away from whatever awaited them both. That's what he'd been working on, wasn't it? Being the kind of man she could rely on.

If only he could move.

He finally forced himself from his spot at the bottom of the stairs when Lisbon was nearly at the top, punching number two on his speed dial as he moved. Cho answered on the second ring.

"I'm at Lisbon's. Can you come? Call Rigsby and Van Pelt, too."

"Give me ten minutes," Cho said without hesitation. Jane hung up.

The blood droplets on the stairs grew larger and more frequent as they approached the crest. The sound of the child's laughter grew louder, a woman singing softly in the background. Behind that, a familiar male voice spoke, laughter plain in the words. _'__Say 'Guggenheim,' Charlie. Let's see one more big smile for the camera, sweet girl.' _

Jane's voice.

Lisbon reached her closed bedroom door and glanced over her shoulder at him. "Stay there," she commanded, but he could see the terror in her own eyes. She'd recognized the voice, as well.

Jane didn't listen to her.

Instead, he followed behind as Lisbon kicked the door opened, gun poised to fire.

She gasped at sight of the room, and immediately pushed Jane backward. "Stay here, dammit—I mean it, Jane," she threatened. She stalked into the bedroom. The walls were painted crimson, howling smileys covering every surface but one wall. A video played on the television screen: Charlotte in a ballerina's tutu, a tiara topping her golden curls. Another howling smiley had been painted over the TV screen, partially obscuring the picture. Jane's eyes slid to Lisbon's fourth wall- the one without the smiley faces. He took it in for barely an instant before the world tilted sideways. He turned and strode toward the bathroom.

The wall was covered with photos.

A dozen of them—all in Technicolor, blown up to 8x10s and larger.

As Jane hovered over the toilet in Lisbon's bathroom, he heard her turn the television off. Then, the bedroom door shut quietly.

A moment later, he heard water running. A cool, damp washcloth was placed at the back of his neck. He flushed the toilet and sank to the floor, his back to the cool tile.

He should say something.

He _needed _to say something.

But he couldn't seem to speak.

Lisbon sat across from him on the floor, a hand on his knee. It was the only contact she initiated. He was grateful—both for her presence, and for the recognition that he needed that space so desperately right now.

His mind flashed back to the pictures: Red John, standing over Angela.

She was still alive, in that photo. Barely—her eyes were wild as she stared into the camera lens, Red John grinning maniacally.

Jane turned and heaved into the toilet again, his head spinning. The ground was shifting beneath him—reality and fantasy merging, past and present indistinguishable. They were dead. They had been dead and in the ground for a decade now; there was no turning back the clock. Another wave of nausea washed over him at the look in Angela's eyes. He had never seen such pure terror before.

He'd been an idiot, thinking he could just leave all that behind- just shut the door on that part of his life. He didn't _deserve _to leave it all behind. What kind of man would he be, if he just moved on after his wife and child were butchered because of something he'd done? The agony Angie experienced in those final moments... there was no way he deserved even an instant of happiness after that.

What the hell was he doing? He bought a house, for God's sake. Packed up his life with Angela and Charlotte, and put it in storage. Sold the house he'd bought for Angie- the house they had picked out together. _This is the kind of house kids grow up happy in, Paddy, _she'd said. She spun around the living room that first day, arms outstretched. _It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen in my life. Nothing bad could ever happen, in a house like this. _

"Jane."

He started, recognizing the steel of Lisbon's tone. When he looked at her, he found no pity in her gaze. There was sorrow, and anger, and profound worry. Lisbon didn't feel sorry for him, though. She knew what he was going through better than anyone, but she wasn't going to break. Lisbon never broke. And if she wasn't going to break, neither was he.

"We're gonna get her, Jane," she whispered.

He nodded grimly. "Yes. Yes, we are."

* * *

"You're not staying here anymore, right?" Van Pelt asked half an hour later. She sat at the table downstairs with Jane and Lisbon, still at Lisbon's apartment, her forehead furrowed with concern. A dollhouse—something Jane hadn't even noticed upon first glimpsing Lisbon's bedroom—sat on the kitchen table.

It was a replica of Jane's new house. The only appreciable difference between the miniature and Jane's actual house was the carnage inside the dollhouse. Another gift from Ellie Jennings.

"No," Lisbon said quietly, in response to Van Pelt's question. Her eyes slid to Jane's, though she made no move to touch him. "I'm staying with Jane for awhile."

Despite being near catatonia himself, Jane didn't miss the tenderness that flashed in Grace's eyes at the words. She actually sighed in relief.

"Oh, good. I was afraid you were gonna be dumb about this—" She stopped, her eyes widening as she realized what she'd said. "I mean—not _dumb, _boss. Stubborn. Stoic. You're never _dumb_—"

Cho and Rigsby thankfully descended the stairs then, intervening before Grace dug herself any deeper. Lisbon stood, arms crossed over her chest.

"What do you think?" she asked, her gaze directed at Cho.

"I think Ellie Jennings is a psychotic nut job with too much time on her hands."

"But this is definitely her," Lisbon said. Cho merely nodded. "Yeah. That's what I figured."

"So, those pictures upstairs…" Rigsby began awkwardly. Lisbon glared at him, silently directing him to be quiet, but Jane shook his head. His stomach turned, but he held himself together.

"It's all right, Lisbon." He looked at Rigsby evenly. "They were clearly from the crime scene, when Red John killed Angela and Charlotte."

Rigsby lowered his eyes. "Well… yeah, we kind of figured. But… the other pictures, I mean?"

Both Jane and Lisbon looked at him blankly. Rigsby looked at Cho, desperation in his eyes.

"There were other pictures, spread across the bed," Cho said. "You didn't see them?"

"I didn't go back in after Jane…" She stopped, uncertain how to continue. "No. I didn't see them."

Cho frowned. "There are pictures of Tommy up there," he said flatly. "And Kristina Frye. A couple of what look like surveillance photos, too…"

"Surveillance photos of what?" Lisbon asked. Jane had only to take one look at Cho's face to know.

"Of us, Lisbon," Jane said quietly, that sinking feeling in his stomach again. "Ellie took photos of you and me." He raised his eyes, looking for confirmation. Cho nodded.

"You mean pictures of them…?" Van Pelt's recently-earned hard edges vanished; with her eyes wide and a blush climbing her cheeks, she looked every bit the innocent ingénue she'd been when she first arrived on the team.

"They weren't playing cards," Cho said.

"That bitch," Lisbon whispered. She stood, her body coiled tight. Jane glanced at the others.

"Could you give us a minute?"

Even Cho looked relieved. The trio filed out, while Cho called back over his shoulder before closing the door.

"Just let us know what you want to do, boss. I can call the crime scene guys if you want."

Lisbon looked as horrified as Jane was sure he did, at the thought.

"We'll handle it ourselves, Cho," Jane said. Lisbon nodded her silent agreement. "Just give us a minute."

The door closed. Lisbon paced furiously for a few moments, arms crossed over her chest, body strung as tight as a bow. Finally, she pulled herself up short and looked at Jane, her eyes dark with concern.

"Are you all right?"

He laughed grimly. "Sure. Peachy."

To his relief, Lisbon echoed his laughter for a moment before that darkness descended once more.

"She was spying on us," she said. "That whole time while we were in Mexico. She had to be. How the hell…?"

He thought back to that single night they'd shared, posing as husband and wife at the orphanage. Mentally, he went over the layout of the room: the headboard of the bed centered against one wall; a single window placed high up. His stomach bottomed out again when he thought of the pictures he'd glimpsed before he had fled Lisbon's bedroom. Mentally, he forced himself to return to the room. In his mind's eye, he viewed each and every one of the macabre photos tacked to her wall. A new, chilling realization suddenly dawned.

"Those photos that were up—the ones Ellie left on the wall. Were they snapshots, or were they, uh…" He stopped, not sure of the right terminology. "You know—freeze frames?"

Lisbon paled. "From a video camera, you mean?"

Jane nodded. He didn't need to wait for her answer, though: he already knew. "They've taped everything," he said. His voice sounded hollow to his ears, his mouth bone dry. "Every murder Red John committed; everything Ellie has done.. everything _we've _done, trying to catch them…"

"That's insane. This is all…" She shook her head. "Jane, this is nuts. You think she has some kind of... what, video archive of this whole thing?"

"Think about it," he said. He paused and wet his lips, trying desperately to draw some moisture back into his mouth. "These dollhouses Ellie's been making- there has to be some way she's able to create them as accurately as she has, and clearly not all of them duplicate the crime scene photos available in the official case files. Which means someone else had to document the crimes..."

"You think Ellie stood by and videotaped while Red John killed the victims?" Lisbon asked.

"I think it's a strong possibility."

They fell silent for a moment, each of them considering the implications of that. Finally, Lisbon sat down at the table again. She touched his wrist lightly. When their eyes met, the worry in her gaze was impossible to miss.

"Jane, that tape that was playing upstairs…"

"It was one of ours—Angela and mine," Jane said, answering before the question was actually asked. "I shot it on Charlotte's second birthday."

"How did Ellie get it, then?"

"All our videos, photos… I've had them in storage. I haven't been able to…" He trailed off, his eyes drifting back to the table. A barrage of images ran through his mind: Charlotte coming home from the hospital, Angela holding her as though the infant might break; first steps, first words, skinned knees and birthday parties, bath time, swim lessons; the security of having his wife and daughter in his arms, in his heart; the certainty of knowing where he would be, what his purpose was, for the rest of his life.

All of that, replaced with bloody still frames and two broken, lifeless bodies.

"I'm so sorry, Jane," Lisbon said softly. The truth of the statement was clear in her voice, her hand warm as her fingertips slid over his palm and the inside of his wrist. Drawing comfort as much as giving it, he realized after a moment. She was scared, though she would never admit it.

In front of him, the miniature replica of the house he'd just bought stood open. Blood was spread throughout the rooms, but it was the master bedroom that held his attention. In it, a blond male and a teenage girl with dark hair lay on the bed, in pieces.

A tiny brunette doll sat staring face front, her eyes eerily empty, blood soiling her clothes.

On the wall, written in small, childish red letters, was a message:

CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR NEW HOME, TERESA

"There was a letter too, wasn't there?" Jane asked, voice still flat. Empty.

"No," Lisbon said. He looked at her in surprise.

"Are you sure? She's been out of touch so long… Ellie would want to say more than just a few words. She'll want to begin a conversation. She wants us to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she's coming for us. That she's been thinking of us."

She looked uncertain for a moment. "Hang on." She started for the stairs. Jane jogged after her, stopping her with a hand on her arm.

"You don't have to go up there. Get the others to do it."

"I'm not running from this," Lisbon said. Her jaw was set. "Just stay here. I won't be long."

"Do you want me to… I could come with you."

Her eyes were filled with compassion—though still not pity, he noted with definite relief—when she shook her head. "Stay here, Jane. I can handle this."

He stood at the bottom of the stairs, wrestling with himself once again as she climbed to the second floor. It was a solid ten minutes before Lisbon finally returned. She looked at him seriously as she descended the stairs, several photos in her hand.

"No letter?" he asked.

"I didn't see one."

He started to go past her, determined to find what he was sure must be there. She blocked his path.

"There's nothing up there, Jane. And even if there was, you're not going in there again," she said flatly. "It's…" She shook her head. He noted that her eyes were puffy; she'd been up there crying. His heart twisted in his chest.

"The images _are_ from a videotape, then?" he asked. She nodded. He thought with dread of the implications of that: the tapes that existed out there somewhere, documenting the final, agonizing hours of his wife and child's lives.

Lisbon walked past him and tossed four fuzzy black and white photos onto the table. Though she was trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism, there was no hiding the blush climbing her cheeks. Jane took one look at the photos and shook his head.

"Well, that's hardly my best side," he said dryly. "You'd think they could have found a more flattering angle."

"She must have planted a camera somewhere in the room—maybe while we were out playing with the kids that night."

Once again, he thought back to that night: Lisbon playing soccer with a group of rag-tag orphans on that hot, dusty Mexican evening. What the hell had he been thinking? Of course Ellie had known they were there; she'd known every move they made, from the very beginning. He was willing to bet there wasn't a single thing they'd done that had surprised her, from the time Jane broke out of jail and the two of them left town. He found himself more and more annoyed at the realization that he'd been bested.

Looking at Lisbon, however, it was clear that her concerns had nothing to do with the fact that Ellie had won their first battle. She stared at the pictures on the table. They were cheap, grainy, turning something that had meant a great deal to both of them, he knew, into something torrid and base. He picked up the pictures, barely glancing at them again, went to Lisbon's kitchen sink, and retrieved a lighter from the shelf.

"Jane, there could be clues in those pictures. Evidence."

"I don't care," he said roughly. He watched the fire, his anger growing as surely as the flames. "She wants to play with us? I'll give her a game she won't forget. I've had it with this shit."

Lisbon's eyes widened. Her mouth twitched.

"Oh, you think that's funny?"

She took a step closer, her hand slipping to his arm. "Actually, it's a little sexy." She shrugged. "What can I say—you were right, as usual. I do have a little bit of a thing for bad boys, I guess."

They stood together in silence for a moment, watching the flames consume the photos until nothing was left but damp black ash. Jane tried to think of something appropriate, something reassuring, to say. Instead, all he could think of was that day more than fourteen years ago: _Say 'Guggenheim,' Charlie. _It had been a joke between the three of them: one of Charlotte's first words was Guggenheim, for reasons no one could ever quite understand. Once she learned it, though, she said it constantly- laughing as though at some riotous joke only the little girl herself was in on. Most of her stuffed bears were named Guggenheim; even one of her dolls was Guggenheim. _Say 'Guggenheim,' Charlie... one more big smile for the camera... _She'd grinned, beaming in her ballerina costume, her tiara tipped haphazardly. _Guggooheim, Daddy. _After that, she'd rushed him while he was still holding the camera, nearly knocking it out of his hands in her excitement.

"Uh- boss?"

Jane started at the words, turning abruptly. The ashes from the photos were soaked now, steam coming up as scalding water filled the sink. Rigsby stood at the door, forehead furrowed with concern. Lisbon's fingers were digging into Jane's arm, as she tried to pull him back to the present.

"Just a second, Rigs," she said.

"It can't wait," he said. The agent entered the apartment and dropped an envelope on the table.

"What is it?" Lisbon asked. She was looking at it like it was a bomb about to go off.

"It was on your car," Rigsby said. "Looks like it's probably from Ellie."

She looked at Jane, a flash of irritation crossing her face at the fact that he was right yet again. It was such a Lisbon reaction that he found himself strangely comforted. Though there would undoubtedly be nothing that could help them with the case, Lisbon took care to use gloves opening the envelope. Which made it take forever, of course- Jane was tempted to just rip the blasted thing out of her hands.

Lisbon cleared her throat, and began to read aloud.

_Dearest Patrick and Teresa, _

_Father doesn't know I've written this note—in fact, he doesn't know I've come calling at all. I'm afraid he wouldn't be happy with me if he learned of my actions; he's been very tiresome about keeping a low profile since our adventures in Mexico. But I did want you to know that I haven't forgotten about you. I'm delighted to see you moving on with our plan so well—it's pleased me so much to get to know Tommy's daughter, and to see that Patrick has welcomed her into his life, as well. You can see firsthand how tragedy draws people closer. Now, the game is well and truly afoot. I've left some mementos for you—a few remembrances I've kept of the times we've shared over the years. Some are from father's archives, some from Tim's, and many, of course, are from my personal collection. I'm so looking forward to seeing you again. To be honest, Tommy was a bit of a disappointment for me; he seemed resigned to die from the start, and wasn't the least bit creative about bargaining for his life. _

_His daughter, I'm sure, will show considerably more spirit. _

_And you fought so admirably to save your brother, Teresa—even though his spirit was broken and he was so easily eased into the grave. I can only imagine how desperate your attempts will be when young Annie—so full of vitality, such a bright future ahead of her—is at my mercy. _

Lisbon paled. She dropped the letter and reached for her cell phone immediately.

"Cho and Grace are already on their way to Jane's place," Rigsby said.

"And I called Rachel as soon as we saw the blood on the stairs," Jane said. Lisbon was still shaking, paying no attention to their words. It wasn't until Jane heard Annie come on the other end of the telephone line that Teresa seemed to breathe again.

"You're okay?" she asked into the telephone. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. Jane couldn't hear what Annie said, but it seemed to allay Lisbon's fears. "Grace and Cho are on their way over there. I want you to do everything they tell you to. I'll explain it when we get back." Another pause. Though Jane still couldn't hear the words, he could tell from Annie's tone and the frown on Lisbon's face that the girl wasn't being put off so easily. "I'm not shielding you from the truth, Annie - but I'm not gonna have this conversation over the phone. I'll tell you everything that happened when we get there. It won't be much longer."

They argued for a moment longer, Annie clearly not believing Lisbon when she said it would wait until they got home. It was only when Rigsby and Van Pelt arrived that Annie finally, willingly got off the phone.

"They'll keep her safe," Jane said.

Lisbon shook her head. "Nothing can keep her safe; nothing can keep _any _of us safe, as long as Ellie is still out there."

Jane wished he could disagree.

TBC

_**Poor Jane! And poor Lisbon! I know, I torture everyone mercilessly... but at least they got a little quality TVD time in before the world fell to pieces. Next up: Patrick and Teresa take a good, hard look at their relationship; Ellie continues to be batshit crazy; and we start easing our way toward Europe, for the next big chunk of the fic. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, and the recent, disturbing developments in the case!**_


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